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diff --git a/5921-h/5921-h.htm b/5921-h/5921-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d12164b --- /dev/null +++ b/5921-h/5921-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,23351 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The History of Don Quixote, Vol. I, by Miguel de Cervantes</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The History of Don Quixote, Vol. I, Complete, by Miguel de Cervantes</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The History of Don Quixote, Vol. I, Complete</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: John Ormsby</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 5, 2002 [eBook #5921]<br /> +[Most recently updated: March 23, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DON QUIXOTE, VOLUME I. ***</div> + +<h1>DON QUIXOTE</h1> + +<h2>by Miguel de Cervantes</h2> + +<h3>Translated by John Ormsby</h3> + +<h3>Volume I.</h3> + +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="" src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" +src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="spine.jpg (152K)" src="images/spine.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/spine.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h4> +Ebook Editor’s Note +</h4> +<blockquote> +<p> +The book cover and spine above and the images which follow were not part +of the original Ormsby translation—they are taken from the 1880 +edition of J. W. Clark, illustrated by Gustave Dore. Clark in his +edition states that, “The English text of ‘Don Quixote’ adopted in this +edition is that of Jarvis, with occasional corrections from Motteaux.” +See in the introduction below John Ormsby’s critique of both the Jarvis +and Motteaux translations. It has been elected in the present Project +Gutenberg edition to attach the famous engravings of Gustave Dore to the +Ormsby translation instead of the Jarvis/Motteaux. The detail of many of +the Dore engravings can be fully appreciated only by utilizing the “Full +Size” button to expand them to their original dimensions. Ormsby in his +Preface has criticized the fanciful nature of Dore’s illustrations; +others feel these woodcuts and steel engravings well match Quixote’s +dreams. D.W. +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p003.jpg (307K)" src="images/p003.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p003.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +CONTENTS +</h2> +<p> +<br /><br /><a href="#ch1">CHAPTER I</a> WHICH TREATS OF THE CHARACTER AND +PURSUITS OF THE FAMOUS GENTLEMAN DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA <br /><br /><a +href="#ch2">CHAPTER II</a> WHICH TREATS OF THE FIRST SALLY THE INGENIOUS +DON QUIXOTE MADE FROM HOME <br /><br /><a href="#ch3">CHAPTER III</a> +WHEREIN IS RELATED THE DROLL WAY IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE HAD HIMSELF DUBBED A +KNIGHT <br /><br /><a href="#ch4">CHAPTER IV</a> OF WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR +KNIGHT WHEN HE LEFT THE INN <br /><br /><a href="#ch5">CHAPTER V</a> IN +WHICH THE NARRATIVE OF OUR KNIGHT’S MISHAP IS CONTINUED <br /><br /><a +href="#ch6">CHAPTER VI</a> OF THE DIVERTING AND IMPORTANT SCRUTINY WHICH +THE CURATE AND THE BARBER MADE IN THE LIBRARY OF OUR INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN +<br /><br /><a href="#ch7">CHAPTER VII</a> OF THE SECOND SALLY OF OUR WORTHY +KNIGHT DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA <br /><br /><a href="#ch8">CHAPTER VIII</a> +OF THE GOOD FORTUNE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE TERRIBLE AND +UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE WINDMILLS, WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES WORTHY TO +BE FITLY RECORDED <br /><br /><a href="#ch9">CHAPTER IX</a> IN WHICH IS +CONCLUDED AND FINISHED THE TERRIFIC BATTLE BETWEEN THE GALLANT BISCAYAN +AND THE VALIANT MANCHEGAN <br /><br /><a href="#ch10">CHAPTER X</a> OF THE +PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO +PANZA <br /><br /><a href="#ch11">CHAPTER XI</a> OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE +WITH CERTAIN GOATHERDS <br /><br /><a href="#ch12">CHAPTER XII</a> OF WHAT A +GOATHERD RELATED TO THOSE WITH DON QUIXOTE <br /><br /><a href="#ch13">CHAPTER +XIII</a> IN WHICH IS ENDED THE STORY OF THE SHEPHERDESS MARCELA, WITH +OTHER INCIDENTS <br /><br /><a href="#ch14">CHAPTER XIV</a> WHEREIN ARE +INSERTED THE DESPAIRING VERSES OF THE DEAD SHEPHERD, TOGETHER WITH OTHER +INCIDENTS NOT LOOKED FOR <br /><br /><a href="#ch15">CHAPTER XV</a> IN WHICH +IS RELATED THE UNFORTUNATE ADVENTURE THAT DON QUIXOTE FELL IN WITH WHEN HE +FELL OUT WITH CERTAIN HEARTLESS YANGUESANS <br /><br /><a href="#ch16">CHAPTER +XVI</a> OF WHAT HAPPENED TO THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN IN THE INN WHICH HE +TOOK TO BE A CASTLE <br /><br /><a href="#ch17">CHAPTER XVII</a> IN WHICH +ARE CONTAINED THE INNUMERABLE TROUBLES WHICH THE BRAVE DON QUIXOTE AND HIS +GOOD SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA ENDURED IN THE INN, WHICH TO HIS MISFORTUNE HE +TOOK TO BE A CASTLE <br /><br /><a href="#ch18">CHAPTER XVIII</a> IN WHICH +IS RELATED THE DISCOURSE SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER, DON QUIXOTE, +AND OTHER ADVENTURES WORTH RELATING <br /><br /><a href="#ch19">CHAPTER XIX</a> +OF THE SHREWD DISCOURSE WHICH SANCHO HELD WITH HIS MASTER, AND OF THE +ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL HIM WITH A DEAD BODY, TOGETHER WITH OTHER NOTABLE +OCCURRENCES <br /><br /><a href="#ch20">CHAPTER XX</a> OF THE UNEXAMPLED AND +UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURE WHICH WAS ACHIEVED BY THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE OF LA +MANCHA WITH LESS PERIL THAN ANY EVER ACHIEVED BY ANY FAMOUS KNIGHT IN THE +WORLD <br /><br /><a href="#ch21">CHAPTER XXI</a> WHICH TREATS OF THE +EXALTED ADVENTURE AND RICH PRIZE OF MAMBRINO’S HELMET, TOGETHER WITH OTHER +THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO OUR INVINCIBLE KNIGHT <br /><br /><a href="#ch22">CHAPTER +XXII</a> OF THE FREEDOM DON QUIXOTE CONFERRED ON SEVERAL UNFORTUNATES WHO +AGAINST THEIR WILL WERE BEING CARRIED WHERE THEY HAD NO WISH TO GO <br /><br /><a +href="#ch23">CHAPTER XXIII</a> OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE SIERRA +MORENA, WHICH WAS ONE OF THE RAREST ADVENTURES RELATED IN THIS VERACIOUS +HISTORY <br /><br /><a href="#ch24">CHAPTER XXIV</a> IN WHICH IS CONTINUED +THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIERRA MORENA <br /><br /><a href="#ch25">CHAPTER XXV</a> +WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO THE STOUT KNIGHT OF LA +MANCHA IN THE SIERRA MORENA, AND OF HIS IMITATION OF THE PENANCE OF +BELTENEBROS <br /><br /><a href="#ch26">CHAPTER XXVI</a> IN WHICH ARE +CONTINUED THE REFINEMENTS WHEREWITH DON QUIXOTE PLAYED THE PART OF A LOVER +IN THE SIERRA MORENA <br /><br /><a href="#ch27">CHAPTER XXVII</a> OF HOW +THE CURATE AND THE BARBER PROCEEDED WITH THEIR SCHEME; TOGETHER WITH OTHER +MATTERS WORTHY OF RECORD IN THIS GREAT HISTORY <br /><br /><a href="#ch28">CHAPTER +XXVIII</a> WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT +BEFELL THE CURATE AND THE BARBER IN THE SAME SIERRA <br /><br /><a +href="#ch29">CHAPTER XXIX</a> WHICH TREATS OF THE DROLL DEVICE AND METHOD +ADOPTED TO EXTRICATE OUR LOVE-STRICKEN KNIGHT FROM THE SEVERE PENANCE HE +HAD IMPOSED UPON HIMSELF <br /><br /><a href="#ch30">CHAPTER XXX</a> WHICH +TREATS OF ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE FAIR DOROTHEA, WITH OTHER MATTERS +PLEASANT AND AMUSING <br /><br /><a href="#ch31">CHAPTER XXXI</a> OF THE +DELECTABLE DISCUSSION BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA, HIS SQUIRE, +TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS <br /><br /><a href="#ch32">CHAPTER XXXII</a> +WHICH TREATS OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE’S PARTY AT THE INN <br /><br /><a +href="#ch33">CHAPTER XXXIII</a> IN WHICH IS RELATED THE NOVEL OF “THE +ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” <br /><br /><a href="#ch34">CHAPTER XXXIV</a> IN +WHICH IS CONTINUED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” <br /><br /><a +href="#ch35">CHAPTER XXXV</a> WHICH TREATS OF THE HEROIC AND PRODIGIOUS +BATTLE DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH CERTAIN SKINS OF RED WINE, AND BRINGS THE +NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” TO A CLOSE <br /><br /><a href="#ch36">CHAPTER +XXXVI</a> WHICH TREATS OF MORE CURIOUS INCIDENTS THAT OCCURRED AT THE INN +<br /><br /><a href="#ch37">CHAPTER XXXVII</a> IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE +STORY OF THE FAMOUS PRINCESS MICOMICONA, WITH OTHER DROLL ADVENTURES <br /><br /><a +href="#ch38">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a> WHICH TREATS OF THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE DON +QUIXOTE DELIVERED ON ARMS AND LETTERS <br /><br /><a href="#ch39">CHAPTER +XXXIX</a> WHEREIN THE CAPTIVE RELATES HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES <br /><br /><a +href="#ch40">CHAPTER XL</a> IN WHICH THE STORY OF THE CAPTIVE IS CONTINUED +<br /><br /><a href="#ch41">CHAPTER XLI</a> IN WHICH THE CAPTIVE STILL +CONTINUES HIS ADVENTURES <br /><br /><a href="#ch42">CHAPTER XLII</a> WHICH +TREATS OF WHAT FURTHER TOOK PLACE IN THE INN, AND OF SEVERAL OTHER THINGS +WORTH KNOWING <br /><br /><a href="#ch43">CHAPTER XLIII</a> WHEREIN IS +RELATED THE PLEASANT STORY OF THE MULETEER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER STRANGE +THINGS THAT CAME TO PASS IN THE INN <br /><br /><a href="#ch44">CHAPTER XLIV</a> +IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURES OF THE INN <br /><br /><a +href="#ch45">CHAPTER XLV</a> IN WHICH THE DOUBTFUL QUESTION OF MAMBRINO’S +HELMET AND THE PACK-SADDLE IS FINALLY SETTLED, WITH OTHER ADVENTURES THAT +OCCURRED IN TRUTH AND EARNEST <br /><br /><a href="#ch46">CHAPTER XLVI</a> +OF THE END OF THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE OFFICERS OF THE HOLY +BROTHERHOOD; AND OF THE GREAT FEROCITY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT, DON QUIXOTE +<br /><br /><a href="#ch47">CHAPTER XLVII</a> OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH +DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WAS CARRIED AWAY ENCHANTED, TOGETHER WITH OTHER +REMARKABLE INCIDENTS <br /><br /><a href="#ch48">CHAPTER XLVIII</a> IN WHICH +THE CANON PURSUES THE SUBJECT OF THE BOOKS OF CHIVALRY, WITH OTHER MATTERS +WORTHY OF HIS WIT <br /><br /><a href="#ch49">CHAPTER XLIX</a> WHICH TREATS +OF THE SHREWD CONVERSATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER DON +QUIXOTE <br /><br /><a href="#ch50">CHAPTER L</a> OF THE SHREWD CONTROVERSY +WHICH DON QUIXOTE AND THE CANON HELD, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS <br /><br /><a +href="#ch51">CHAPTER LI</a> WHICH DEALS WITH WHAT THE GOATHERD TOLD THOSE +WHO WERE CARRYING OFF DON QUIXOTE <br /><br /><a href="#ch52">CHAPTER LII</a> +OF THE QUARREL THAT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH THE GOATHERD, TOGETHER WITH THE +RARE ADVENTURE OF THE PENITENTS, WHICH WITH AN EXPENDITURE OF SWEAT HE +BROUGHT TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE +</h2> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h3> +I: ABOUT THIS TRANSLATION +</h3> +<p> +It was with considerable reluctance that I abandoned in favour of the +present undertaking what had long been a favourite project: that of a new +edition of Shelton’s “Don Quixote,” which has now become a somewhat scarce +book. There are some—and I confess myself to be one—for whom +Shelton’s racy old version, with all its defects, has a charm that no +modern translation, however skilful or correct, could possess. Shelton had +the inestimable advantage of belonging to the same generation as +Cervantes; “Don Quixote” had to him a vitality that only a contemporary +could feel; it cost him no dramatic effort to see things as Cervantes saw +them; there is no anachronism in his language; he put the Spanish of +Cervantes into the English of Shakespeare. Shakespeare himself most likely +knew the book; he may have carried it home with him in his saddle-bags to +Stratford on one of his last journeys, and under the mulberry tree at New +Place joined hands with a kindred genius in its pages. +</p> +<p> +But it was soon made plain to me that to hope for even a moderate +popularity for Shelton was vain. His fine old crusted English would, no +doubt, be relished by a minority, but it would be only by a minority. His +warmest admirers must admit that he is not a satisfactory representative +of Cervantes. His translation of the First Part was very hastily made and +was never revised by him. It has all the freshness and vigour, but also a +full measure of the faults, of a hasty production. It is often very +literal—barbarously literal frequently—but just as often very +loose. He had evidently a good colloquial knowledge of Spanish, but +apparently not much more. It never seems to occur to him that the same +translation of a word will not suit in every case. +</p> +<p> +It is often said that we have no satisfactory translation of “Don +Quixote.” To those who are familiar with the original, it savours of +truism or platitude to say so, for in truth there can be no thoroughly +satisfactory translation of “Don Quixote” into English or any other +language. It is not that the Spanish idioms are so utterly unmanageable, +or that the untranslatable words, numerous enough no doubt, are so +superabundant, but rather that the sententious terseness to which the +humour of the book owes its flavour is peculiar to Spanish, and can at +best be only distantly imitated in any other tongue. +</p> +<p> +The history of our English translations of “Don Quixote” is instructive. +Shelton’s, the first in any language, was made, apparently, about 1608, +but not published till 1612. This of course was only the First Part. It +has been asserted that the Second, published in 1620, is not the work of +Shelton, but there is nothing to support the assertion save the fact that +it has less spirit, less of what we generally understand by “go,” about it +than the first, which would be only natural if the first were the work of +a young man writing currente calamo, and the second that of a middle-aged +man writing for a bookseller. On the other hand, it is closer and more +literal, the style is the same, the very same translations, or +mistranslations, occur in it, and it is extremely unlikely that a new +translator would, by suppressing his name, have allowed Shelton to carry +off the credit. +</p> +<p> +In 1687 John Phillips, Milton’s nephew, produced a “Don Quixote” “made +English,” he says, “according to the humour of our modern language.” His +“Quixote” is not so much a translation as a travesty, and a travesty that +for coarseness, vulgarity, and buffoonery is almost unexampled even in the +literature of that day. +</p> +<p> +Ned Ward’s “Life and Notable Adventures of Don Quixote, merrily translated +into Hudibrastic Verse” (1700), can scarcely be reckoned a translation, +but it serves to show the light in which “Don Quixote” was regarded at the +time. +</p> +<p> +A further illustration may be found in the version published in 1712 by +Peter Motteux, who had then recently combined tea-dealing with literature. +It is described as “translated from the original by several hands,” but if +so all Spanish flavour has entirely evaporated under the manipulation of +the several hands. The flavour that it has, on the other hand, is +distinctly Franco-cockney. Anyone who compares it carefully with the +original will have little doubt that it is a concoction from Shelton and +the French of Filleau de Saint Martin, eked out by borrowings from +Phillips, whose mode of treatment it adopts. It is, to be sure, more +decent and decorous, but it treats “Don Quixote” in the same fashion as a +comic book that cannot be made too comic. +</p> +<p> +To attempt to improve the humour of “Don Quixote” by an infusion of +cockney flippancy and facetiousness, as Motteux’s operators did, is not +merely an impertinence like larding a sirloin of prize beef, but an +absolute falsification of the spirit of the book, and it is a proof of the +uncritical way in which “Don Quixote” is generally read that this worse +than worthless translation—worthless as failing to represent, worse +than worthless as misrepresenting—should have been favoured as it +has been. +</p> +<p> +It had the effect, however, of bringing out a translation undertaken and +executed in a very different spirit, that of Charles Jervas, the portrait +painter, and friend of Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, and Gay. Jervas has been +allowed little credit for his work, indeed it may be said none, for it is +known to the world in general as Jarvis’s. It was not published until +after his death, and the printers gave the name according to the current +pronunciation of the day. It has been the most freely used and the most +freely abused of all the translations. It has seen far more editions than +any other, it is admitted on all hands to be by far the most faithful, and +yet nobody seems to have a good word to say for it or for its author. +Jervas no doubt prejudiced readers against himself in his preface, where +among many true words about Shelton, Stevens, and Motteux, he rashly and +unjustly charges Shelton with having translated not from the Spanish, but +from the Italian version of Franciosini, which did not appear until ten +years after Shelton’s first volume. A suspicion of incompetence, too, +seems to have attached to him because he was by profession a painter and a +mediocre one (though he has given us the best portrait we have of Swift), +and this may have been strengthened by Pope’s remark that he “translated +‘Don Quixote’ without understanding Spanish.” He has been also charged +with borrowing from Shelton, whom he disparaged. It is true that in a few +difficult or obscure passages he has followed Shelton, and gone astray +with him; but for one case of this sort, there are fifty where he is right +and Shelton wrong. As for Pope’s dictum, anyone who examines Jervas’s +version carefully, side by side with the original, will see that he was a +sound Spanish scholar, incomparably a better one than Shelton, except +perhaps in mere colloquial Spanish. He was, in fact, an honest, faithful, +and painstaking translator, and he has left a version which, whatever its +shortcomings may be, is singularly free from errors and mistranslations. +</p> +<p> +The charge against it is that it is stiff, dry—“wooden” in a word,—and +no one can deny that there is a foundation for it. But it may be pleaded +for Jervas that a good deal of this rigidity is due to his abhorrence of +the light, flippant, jocose style of his predecessors. He was one of the +few, very few, translators that have shown any apprehension of the +unsmiling gravity which is the essence of Quixotic humour; it seemed to +him a crime to bring Cervantes forward smirking and grinning at his own +good things, and to this may be attributed in a great measure the ascetic +abstinence from everything savouring of liveliness which is the +characteristic of his translation. In most modern editions, it should be +observed, his style has been smoothed and smartened, but without any +reference to the original Spanish, so that if he has been made to read +more agreeably he has also been robbed of his chief merit of fidelity. +</p> +<p> +Smollett’s version, published in 1755, may be almost counted as one of +these. At any rate it is plain that in its construction Jervas’s +translation was very freely drawn upon, and very little or probably no +heed given to the original Spanish. +</p> +<p> +The later translations may be dismissed in a few words. George Kelly’s, +which appeared in 1769, “printed for the Translator,” was an impudent +imposture, being nothing more than Motteux’s version with a few of the +words, here and there, artfully transposed; Charles Wilmot’s (1774) was +only an abridgment like Florian’s, but not so skilfully executed; and the +version published by Miss Smirke in 1818, to accompany her brother’s +plates, was merely a patchwork production made out of former translations. +On the latest, Mr. A. J. Duffield’s, it would be in every sense of the +word impertinent in me to offer an opinion here. I had not even seen it +when the present undertaking was proposed to me, and since then I may say +vidi tantum, having for obvious reasons resisted the temptation which Mr. +Duffield’s reputation and comely volumes hold out to every lover of +Cervantes. +</p> +<p> +From the foregoing history of our translations of “Don Quixote,” it will +be seen that there are a good many people who, provided they get the mere +narrative with its full complement of facts, incidents, and adventures +served up to them in a form that amuses them, care very little whether +that form is the one in which Cervantes originally shaped his ideas. On +the other hand, it is clear that there are many who desire to have not +merely the story he tells, but the story as he tells it, so far at least +as differences of idiom and circumstances permit, and who will give a +preference to the conscientious translator, even though he may have +acquitted himself somewhat awkwardly. +</p> +<p> +But after all there is no real antagonism between the two classes; there +is no reason why what pleases the one should not please the other, or why +a translator who makes it his aim to treat “Don Quixote” with the respect +due to a great classic, should not be as acceptable even to the careless +reader as the one who treats it as a famous old jest-book. It is not a +question of caviare to the general, or, if it is, the fault rests with him +who makes so. The method by which Cervantes won the ear of the Spanish +people ought, mutatis mutandis, to be equally effective with the great +majority of English readers. At any rate, even if there are readers to +whom it is a matter of indifference, fidelity to the method is as much a +part of the translator’s duty as fidelity to the matter. If he can please +all parties, so much the better; but his first duty is to those who look +to him for as faithful a representation of his author as it is in his +power to give them, faithful to the letter so long as fidelity is +practicable, faithful to the spirit so far as he can make it. +</p> +<p> +My purpose here is not to dogmatise on the rules of translation, but to +indicate those I have followed, or at least tried to the best of my +ability to follow, in the present instance. One which, it seems to me, +cannot be too rigidly followed in translating “Don Quixote,” is to avoid +everything that savours of affectation. The book itself is, indeed, in one +sense a protest against it, and no man abhorred it more than Cervantes. +For this reason, I think, any temptation to use antiquated or obsolete +language should be resisted. It is after all an affectation, and one for +which there is no warrant or excuse. Spanish has probably undergone less +change since the seventeenth century than any language in Europe, and by +far the greater and certainly the best part of “Don Quixote” differs but +little in language from the colloquial Spanish of the present day. Except +in the tales and Don Quixote’s speeches, the translator who uses the +simplest and plainest everyday language will almost always be the one who +approaches nearest to the original. +</p> +<p> +Seeing that the story of “Don Quixote” and all its characters and +incidents have now been for more than two centuries and a half familiar as +household words in English mouths, it seems to me that the old familiar +names and phrases should not be changed without good reason. Of course a +translator who holds that “Don Quixote” should receive the treatment a +great classic deserves, will feel himself bound by the injunction laid +upon the Morisco in Chap. IX not to omit or add anything. +</p> +<p> +II: ABOUT CERVANTES AND DON QUIXOTE +</p> +<p> +Four generations had laughed over “Don Quixote” before it occurred to +anyone to ask, who and what manner of man was this Miguel de Cervantes +Saavedra whose name is on the title-page; and it was too late for a +satisfactory answer to the question when it was proposed to add a life of +the author to the London edition published at Lord Carteret’s instance in +1738. All traces of the personality of Cervantes had by that time +disappeared. Any floating traditions that may once have existed, +transmitted from men who had known him, had long since died out, and of +other record there was none; for the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries +were incurious as to “the men of the time,” a reproach against which the +nineteenth has, at any rate, secured itself, if it has produced no +Shakespeare or Cervantes. All that Mayans y Siscar, to whom the task was +entrusted, or any of those who followed him, Rios, Pellicer, or Navarrete, +could do was to eke out the few allusions Cervantes makes to himself in +his various prefaces with such pieces of documentary evidence bearing upon +his life as they could find. +</p> +<p> +This, however, has been done by the last-named biographer to such good +purpose that he has superseded all predecessors. Thoroughness is the chief +characteristic of Navarrete’s work. Besides sifting, testing, and +methodising with rare patience and judgment what had been previously +brought to light, he left, as the saying is, no stone unturned under which +anything to illustrate his subject might possibly be found. Navarrete has +done all that industry and acumen could do, and it is no fault of his if +he has not given us what we want. What Hallam says of Shakespeare may be +applied to the almost parallel case of Cervantes: “It is not the register +of his baptism, or the draft of his will, or the orthography of his name +that we seek; no letter of his writing, no record of his conversation, no +character of him drawn ... by a contemporary has been produced.” +</p> +<p> +It is only natural, therefore, that the biographers of Cervantes, forced +to make brick without straw, should have recourse largely to conjecture, +and that conjecture should in some instances come by degrees to take the +place of established fact. All that I propose to do here is to separate +what is matter of fact from what is matter of conjecture, and leave it to +the reader’s judgment to decide whether the data justify the inference or +not. +</p> +<p> +The men whose names by common consent stand in the front rank of Spanish +literature, Cervantes, Lope de Vega, Quevedo, Calderon, Garcilaso de la +Vega, the Mendozas, Gongora, were all men of ancient families, and, +curiously, all, except the last, of families that traced their origin to +the same mountain district in the North of Spain. The family of Cervantes +is commonly said to have been of Galician origin, and unquestionably it +was in possession of lands in Galicia at a very early date; but I think +the balance of the evidence tends to show that the “solar,” the original +site of the family, was at Cervatos in the north-west corner of Old +Castile, close to the junction of Castile, Leon, and the Asturias. As it +happens, there is a complete history of the Cervantes family from the +tenth century down to the seventeenth extant under the title of +“Illustrious Ancestry, Glorious Deeds, and Noble Posterity of the Famous +Nuno Alfonso, Alcaide of Toledo,” written in 1648 by the industrious +genealogist Rodrigo Mendez Silva, who availed himself of a manuscript +genealogy by Juan de Mena, the poet laureate and historiographer of John +II. +</p> +<p> +The origin of the name Cervantes is curious. Nuno Alfonso was almost as +distinguished in the struggle against the Moors in the reign of Alfonso +VII as the Cid had been half a century before in that of Alfonso VI, and +was rewarded by divers grants of land in the neighbourhood of Toledo. On +one of his acquisitions, about two leagues from the city, he built himself +a castle which he called Cervatos, because “he was lord of the solar of +Cervatos in the Montana,” as the mountain region extending from the Basque +Provinces to Leon was always called. At his death in battle in 1143, the +castle passed by his will to his son Alfonso Munio, who, as territorial or +local surnames were then coming into vogue in place of the simple +patronymic, took the additional name of Cervatos. His eldest son Pedro +succeeded him in the possession of the castle, and followed his example in +adopting the name, an assumption at which the younger son, Gonzalo, seems +to have taken umbrage. +</p> +<p> +Everyone who has paid even a flying visit to Toledo will remember the +ruined castle that crowns the hill above the spot where the bridge of +Alcantara spans the gorge of the Tagus, and with its broken outline and +crumbling walls makes such an admirable pendant to the square solid +Alcazar towering over the city roofs on the opposite side. It was built, +or as some say restored, by Alfonso VI shortly after his occupation of +Toledo in 1085, and called by him San Servando after a Spanish martyr, a +name subsequently modified into San Servan (in which form it appears in +the “Poem of the Cid”), San Servantes, and San Cervantes: with regard to +which last the “Handbook for Spain” warns its readers against the +supposition that it has anything to do with the author of “Don Quixote.” +Ford, as all know who have taken him for a companion and counsellor on the +roads of Spain, is seldom wrong in matters of literature or history. In +this instance, however, he is in error. It has everything to do with the +author of “Don Quixote,” for it is in fact these old walls that have given +to Spain the name she is proudest of to-day. Gonzalo, above mentioned, it +may be readily conceived, did not relish the appropriation by his brother +of a name to which he himself had an equal right, for though nominally +taken from the castle, it was in reality derived from the ancient +territorial possession of the family, and as a set-off, and to distinguish +himself (diferenciarse) from his brother, he took as a surname the name of +the castle on the bank of the Tagus, in the building of which, according +to a family tradition, his great-grandfather had a share. +</p> +<p> +Both brothers founded families. The Cervantes branch had more tenacity; it +sent offshoots in various directions, Andalusia, Estremadura, Galicia, and +Portugal, and produced a goodly line of men distinguished in the service +of Church and State. Gonzalo himself, and apparently a son of his, +followed Ferdinand III in the great campaign of 1236-48 that gave Cordova +and Seville to Christian Spain and penned up the Moors in the kingdom of +Granada, and his descendants intermarried with some of the noblest +families of the Peninsula and numbered among them soldiers, magistrates, +and Church dignitaries, including at least two cardinal-archbishops. +</p> +<p> +Of the line that settled in Andalusia, Deigo de Cervantes, Commander of +the Order of Santiago, married Juana Avellaneda, daughter of Juan Arias de +Saavedra, and had several sons, of whom one was Gonzalo Gomez, Corregidor +of Jerez and ancestor of the Mexican and Columbian branches of the family; +and another, Juan, whose son Rodrigo married Dona Leonor de Cortinas, and +by her had four children, Rodrigo, Andrea, Luisa, and Miguel, our author. +</p> +<p> +The pedigree of Cervantes is not without its bearing on “Don Quixote.” A +man who could look back upon an ancestry of genuine knights-errant +extending from well-nigh the time of Pelayo to the siege of Granada was +likely to have a strong feeling on the subject of the sham chivalry of the +romances. It gives a point, too, to what he says in more than one place +about families that have once been great and have tapered away until they +have come to nothing, like a pyramid. It was the case of his own. +</p> +<p> +He was born at Alcala de Henares and baptised in the church of Santa Maria +Mayor on the 9th of October, 1547. Of his boyhood and youth we know +nothing, unless it be from the glimpse he gives us in the preface to his +“Comedies” of himself as a boy looking on with delight while Lope de Rueda +and his company set up their rude plank stage in the plaza and acted the +rustic farces which he himself afterwards took as the model of his +interludes. This first glimpse, however, is a significant one, for it +shows the early development of that love of the drama which exercised such +an influence on his life and seems to have grown stronger as he grew +older, and of which this very preface, written only a few months before +his death, is such a striking proof. He gives us to understand, too, that +he was a great reader in his youth; but of this no assurance was needed, +for the First Part of “Don Quixote” alone proves a vast amount of +miscellaneous reading, romances of chivalry, ballads, popular poetry, +chronicles, for which he had no time or opportunity except in the first +twenty years of his life; and his misquotations and mistakes in matters of +detail are always, it may be noticed, those of a man recalling the reading +of his boyhood. +</p> +<p> +Other things besides the drama were in their infancy when Cervantes was a +boy. The period of his boyhood was in every way a transition period for +Spain. The old chivalrous Spain had passed away. The new Spain was the +mightiest power the world had seen since the Roman Empire and it had not +yet been called upon to pay the price of its greatness. By the policy of +Ferdinand and Ximenez the sovereign had been made absolute, and the Church +and Inquisition adroitly adjusted to keep him so. The nobles, who had +always resisted absolutism as strenuously as they had fought the Moors, +had been divested of all political power, a like fate had befallen the +cities, the free constitutions of Castile and Aragon had been swept away, +and the only function that remained to the Cortes was that of granting +money at the King’s dictation. +</p> +<p> +The transition extended to literature. Men who, like Garcilaso de la Vega +and Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, followed the Italian wars, had brought back +from Italy the products of the post-Renaissance literature, which took +root and flourished and even threatened to extinguish the native growths. +Damon and Thyrsis, Phyllis and Chloe had been fairly naturalised in Spain, +together with all the devices of pastoral poetry for investing with an air +of novelty the idea of a dispairing shepherd and inflexible shepherdess. +As a set-off against this, the old historical and traditional ballads, and +the true pastorals, the songs and ballads of peasant life, were being +collected assiduously and printed in the cancioneros that succeeded one +another with increasing rapidity. But the most notable consequence, +perhaps, of the spread of printing was the flood of romances of chivalry +that had continued to pour from the press ever since Garci Ordonez de +Montalvo had resuscitated “Amadis of Gaul” at the beginning of the +century. +</p> +<p> +For a youth fond of reading, solid or light, there could have been no +better spot in Spain than Alcala de Henares in the middle of the sixteenth +century. It was then a busy, populous university town, something more than +the enterprising rival of Salamanca, and altogether a very different place +from the melancholy, silent, deserted Alcala the traveller sees now as he +goes from Madrid to Saragossa. Theology and medicine may have been the +strong points of the university, but the town itself seems to have +inclined rather to the humanities and light literature, and as a producer +of books Alcala was already beginning to compete with the older presses of +Toledo, Burgos, Salamanca and Seville. +</p> +<p> +A pendant to the picture Cervantes has given us of his first playgoings +might, no doubt, have been often seen in the streets of Alcala at that +time; a bright, eager, tawny-haired boy peering into a book-shop where the +latest volumes lay open to tempt the public, wondering, it may be, what +that little book with the woodcut of the blind beggar and his boy, that +called itself “Vida de Lazarillo de Tormes, segunda impresion,” could be +about; or with eyes brimming over with merriment gazing at one of those +preposterous portraits of a knight-errant in outrageous panoply and plumes +with which the publishers of chivalry romances loved to embellish the +title-pages of their folios. If the boy was the father of the man, the +sense of the incongruous that was strong at fifty was lively at ten, and +some such reflections as these may have been the true genesis of “Don +Quixote.” +</p> +<p> +For his more solid education, we are told, he went to Salamanca. But why +Rodrigo de Cervantes, who was very poor, should have sent his son to a +university a hundred and fifty miles away when he had one at his own door, +would be a puzzle, if we had any reason for supposing that he did so. The +only evidence is a vague statement by Professor Tomas Gonzalez, that he +once saw an old entry of the matriculation of a Miguel de Cervantes. This +does not appear to have been ever seen again; but even if it had, and if +the date corresponded, it would prove nothing, as there were at least two +other Miguels born about the middle of the century; one of them, moreover, +a Cervantes Saavedra, a cousin, no doubt, who was a source of great +embarrassment to the biographers. +</p> +<p> +That he was a student neither at Salamanca nor at Alcala is best proved by +his own works. No man drew more largely upon experience than he did, and +he has nowhere left a single reminiscence of student life—for the +“Tia Fingida,” if it be his, is not one—nothing, not even “a college +joke,” to show that he remembered days that most men remember best. All +that we know positively about his education is that Juan Lopez de Hoyos, a +professor of humanities and belles-lettres of some eminence, calls him his +“dear and beloved pupil.” This was in a little collection of verses by +different hands on the death of Isabel de Valois, second queen of Philip +II, published by the professor in 1569, to which Cervantes contributed +four pieces, including an elegy, and an epitaph in the form of a sonnet. +It is only by a rare chance that a “Lycidas” finds its way into a volume +of this sort, and Cervantes was no Milton. His verses are no worse than +such things usually are; so much, at least, may be said for them. +</p> +<p> +By the time the book appeared he had left Spain, and, as fate ordered it, +for twelve years, the most eventful ones of his life. Giulio, afterwards +Cardinal, Acquaviva had been sent at the end of 1568 to Philip II by the +Pope on a mission, partly of condolence, partly political, and on his +return to Rome, which was somewhat brusquely expedited by the King, he +took Cervantes with him as his camarero (chamberlain), the office he +himself held in the Pope’s household. The post would no doubt have led to +advancement at the Papal Court had Cervantes retained it, but in the +summer of 1570 he resigned it and enlisted as a private soldier in Captain +Diego Urbina’s company, belonging to Don Miguel de Moncada’s regiment, but +at that time forming a part of the command of Marc Antony Colonna. What +impelled him to this step we know not, whether it was distaste for the +career before him, or purely military enthusiasm. It may well have been +the latter, for it was a stirring time; the events, however, which led to +the alliance between Spain, Venice, and the Pope, against the common +enemy, the Porte, and to the victory of the combined fleets at Lepanto, +belong rather to the history of Europe than to the life of Cervantes. He +was one of those that sailed from Messina, in September 1571, under the +command of Don John of Austria; but on the morning of the 7th of October, +when the Turkish fleet was sighted, he was lying below ill with fever. At +the news that the enemy was in sight he rose, and, in spite of the +remonstrances of his comrades and superiors, insisted on taking his post, +saying he preferred death in the service of God and the King to health. +His galley, the Marquesa, was in the thick of the fight, and before it was +over he had received three gunshot wounds, two in the breast and one in +the left hand or arm. On the morning after the battle, according to +Navarrete, he had an interview with the commander-in-chief, Don John, who +was making a personal inspection of the wounded, one result of which was +an addition of three crowns to his pay, and another, apparently, the +friendship of his general. +</p> +<p> +How severely Cervantes was wounded may be inferred from the fact, that +with youth, a vigorous frame, and as cheerful and buoyant a temperament as +ever invalid had, he was seven months in hospital at Messina before he was +discharged. He came out with his left hand permanently disabled; he had +lost the use of it, as Mercury told him in the “Viaje del Parnaso” for the +greater glory of the right. This, however, did not absolutely unfit him +for service, and in April 1572 he joined Manuel Ponce de Leon’s company of +Lope de Figueroa’s regiment, in which, it seems probable, his brother +Rodrigo was serving, and shared in the operations of the next three years, +including the capture of the Goletta and Tunis. Taking advantage of the +lull which followed the recapture of these places by the Turks, he +obtained leave to return to Spain, and sailed from Naples in September +1575 on board the Sun galley, in company with his brother Rodrigo, Pedro +Carrillo de Quesada, late Governor of the Goletta, and some others, and +furnished with letters from Don John of Austria and the Duke of Sesa, the +Viceroy of Sicily, recommending him to the King for the command of a +company, on account of his services; a dono infelice as events proved. On +the 26th they fell in with a squadron of Algerine galleys, and after a +stout resistance were overpowered and carried into Algiers. +</p> +<p> +By means of a ransomed fellow-captive the brothers contrived to inform +their family of their condition, and the poor people at Alcala at once +strove to raise the ransom money, the father disposing of all he +possessed, and the two sisters giving up their marriage portions. But Dali +Mami had found on Cervantes the letters addressed to the King by Don John +and the Duke of Sesa, and, concluding that his prize must be a person of +great consequence, when the money came he refused it scornfully as being +altogether insufficient. The owner of Rodrigo, however, was more easily +satisfied; ransom was accepted in his case, and it was arranged between +the brothers that he should return to Spain and procure a vessel in which +he was to come back to Algiers and take off Miguel and as many of their +comrades as possible. This was not the first attempt to escape that +Cervantes had made. Soon after the commencement of his captivity he +induced several of his companions to join him in trying to reach Oran, +then a Spanish post, on foot; but after the first day’s journey, the Moor +who had agreed to act as their guide deserted them, and they had no choice +but to return. The second attempt was more disastrous. In a garden outside +the city on the sea-shore, he constructed, with the help of the gardener, +a Spaniard, a hiding-place, to which he brought, one by one, fourteen of +his fellow-captives, keeping them there in secrecy for several months, and +supplying them with food through a renegade known as El Dorador, “the +Gilder.” How he, a captive himself, contrived to do all this, is one of +the mysteries of the story. Wild as the project may appear, it was very +nearly successful. The vessel procured by Rodrigo made its appearance off +the coast, and under cover of night was proceeding to take off the +refugees, when the crew were alarmed by a passing fishing boat, and beat a +hasty retreat. On renewing the attempt shortly afterwards, they, or a +portion of them at least, were taken prisoners, and just as the poor +fellows in the garden were exulting in the thought that in a few moments +more freedom would be within their grasp, they found themselves surrounded +by Turkish troops, horse and foot. The Dorador had revealed the whole +scheme to the Dey Hassan. +</p> +<p> +When Cervantes saw what had befallen them, he charged his companions to +lay all the blame upon him, and as they were being bound he declared aloud +that the whole plot was of his contriving, and that nobody else had any +share in it. Brought before the Dey, he said the same. He was threatened +with impalement and with torture; and as cutting off ears and noses were +playful freaks with the Algerines, it may be conceived what their tortures +were like; but nothing could make him swerve from his original statement +that he and he alone was responsible. The upshot was that the unhappy +gardener was hanged by his master, and the prisoners taken possession of +by the Dey, who, however, afterwards restored most of them to their +masters, but kept Cervantes, paying Dali Mami 500 crowns for him. He felt, +no doubt, that a man of such resource, energy, and daring, was too +dangerous a piece of property to be left in private hands; and he had him +heavily ironed and lodged in his own prison. If he thought that by these +means he could break the spirit or shake the resolution of his prisoner, +he was soon undeceived, for Cervantes contrived before long to despatch a +letter to the Governor of Oran, entreating him to send him some one that +could be trusted, to enable him and three other gentlemen, fellow-captives +of his, to make their escape; intending evidently to renew his first +attempt with a more trustworthy guide. Unfortunately the Moor who carried +the letter was stopped just outside Oran, and the letter being found upon +him, he was sent back to Algiers, where by the order of the Dey he was +promptly impaled as a warning to others, while Cervantes was condemned to +receive two thousand blows of the stick, a number which most likely would +have deprived the world of “Don Quixote,” had not some persons, who they +were we know not, interceded on his behalf. +</p> +<p> +After this he seems to have been kept in still closer confinement than +before, for nearly two years passed before he made another attempt. This +time his plan was to purchase, by the aid of a Spanish renegade and two +Valencian merchants resident in Algiers, an armed vessel in which he and +about sixty of the leading captives were to make their escape; but just as +they were about to put it into execution one Doctor Juan Blanco de Paz, an +ecclesiastic and a compatriot, informed the Dey of the plot. Cervantes by +force of character, by his self-devotion, by his untiring energy and his +exertions to lighten the lot of his companions in misery, had endeared +himself to all, and become the leading spirit in the captive colony, and, +incredible as it may seem, jealousy of his influence and the esteem in +which he was held, moved this man to compass his destruction by a cruel +death. The merchants finding that the Dey knew all, and fearing that +Cervantes under torture might make disclosures that would imperil their +own lives, tried to persuade him to slip away on board a vessel that was +on the point of sailing for Spain; but he told them they had nothing to +fear, for no tortures would make him compromise anybody, and he went at +once and gave himself up to the Dey. +</p> +<p> +As before, the Dey tried to force him to name his accomplices. Everything +was made ready for his immediate execution; the halter was put round his +neck and his hands tied behind him, but all that could be got from him was +that he himself, with the help of four gentlemen who had since left +Algiers, had arranged the whole, and that the sixty who were to accompany +him were not to know anything of it until the last moment. Finding he +could make nothing of him, the Dey sent him back to prison more heavily +ironed than before. +</p> +<p> +The poverty-stricken Cervantes family had been all this time trying once +more to raise the ransom money, and at last a sum of three hundred ducats +was got together and entrusted to the Redemptorist Father Juan Gil, who +was about to sail for Algiers. The Dey, however, demanded more than double +the sum offered, and as his term of office had expired and he was about to +sail for Constantinople, taking all his slaves with him, the case of +Cervantes was critical. He was already on board heavily ironed, when the +Dey at length agreed to reduce his demand by one-half, and Father Gil by +borrowing was able to make up the amount, and on September 19, 1580, after +a captivity of five years all but a week, Cervantes was at last set free. +Before long he discovered that Blanco de Paz, who claimed to be an officer +of the Inquisition, was now concocting on false evidence a charge of +misconduct to be brought against him on his return to Spain. To checkmate +him Cervantes drew up a series of twenty-five questions, covering the +whole period of his captivity, upon which he requested Father Gil to take +the depositions of credible witnesses before a notary. Eleven witnesses +taken from among the principal captives in Algiers deposed to all the +facts above stated and to a great deal more besides. There is something +touching in the admiration, love, and gratitude we see struggling to find +expression in the formal language of the notary, as they testify one after +another to the good deeds of Cervantes, how he comforted and helped the +weak-hearted, how he kept up their drooping courage, how he shared his +poor purse with this deponent, and how “in him this deponent found father +and mother.” +</p> +<p> +On his return to Spain he found his old regiment about to march for +Portugal to support Philip’s claim to the crown, and utterly penniless +now, had no choice but to rejoin it. He was in the expeditions to the +Azores in 1582 and the following year, and on the conclusion of the war +returned to Spain in the autumn of 1583, bringing with him the manuscript +of his pastoral romance, the “Galatea,” and probably also, to judge by +internal evidence, that of the first portion of “Persiles and Sigismunda.” +He also brought back with him, his biographers assert, an infant daughter, +the offspring of an amour, as some of them with great circumstantiality +inform us, with a Lisbon lady of noble birth, whose name, however, as well +as that of the street she lived in, they omit to mention. The sole +foundation for all this is that in 1605 there certainly was living in the +family of Cervantes a Dona Isabel de Saavedra, who is described in an +official document as his natural daughter, and then twenty years of age. +</p> +<p> +With his crippled left hand promotion in the army was hopeless, now that +Don John was dead and he had no one to press his claims and services, and +for a man drawing on to forty life in the ranks was a dismal prospect; he +had already a certain reputation as a poet; he made up his mind, +therefore, to cast his lot with literature, and for a first venture +committed his “Galatea” to the press. It was published, as Salva y Mallen +shows conclusively, at Alcala, his own birth-place, in 1585 and no doubt +helped to make his name more widely known, but certainly did not do him +much good in any other way. +</p> +<p> +While it was going through the press, he married Dona Catalina de Palacios +Salazar y Vozmediano, a lady of Esquivias near Madrid, and apparently a +friend of the family, who brought him a fortune which may possibly have +served to keep the wolf from the door, but if so, that was all. The drama +had by this time outgrown market-place stages and strolling companies, and +with his old love for it he naturally turned to it for a congenial +employment. In about three years he wrote twenty or thirty plays, which he +tells us were performed without any throwing of cucumbers or other +missiles, and ran their course without any hisses, outcries, or +disturbance. In other words, his plays were not bad enough to be hissed +off the stage, but not good enough to hold their own upon it. Only two of +them have been preserved, but as they happen to be two of the seven or +eight he mentions with complacency, we may assume they are favourable +specimens, and no one who reads the “Numancia” and the “Trato de Argel” +will feel any surprise that they failed as acting dramas. Whatever merits +they may have, whatever occasional they may show, they are, as regards +construction, incurably clumsy. How completely they failed is manifest +from the fact that with all his sanguine temperament and indomitable +perseverance he was unable to maintain the struggle to gain a livelihood +as a dramatist for more than three years; nor was the rising popularity of +Lope the cause, as is often said, notwithstanding his own words to the +contrary. When Lope began to write for the stage is uncertain, but it was +certainly after Cervantes went to Seville. +</p> +<p> +Among the “Nuevos Documentos” printed by Señor Asensio y Toledo is one +dated 1592, and curiously characteristic of Cervantes. It is an agreement +with one Rodrigo Osorio, a manager, who was to accept six comedies at +fifty ducats (about 6l.) apiece, not to be paid in any case unless it +appeared on representation that the said comedy was one of the best that +had ever been represented in Spain. The test does not seem to have been +ever applied; perhaps it was sufficiently apparent to Rodrigo Osorio that +the comedies were not among the best that had ever been represented. Among +the correspondence of Cervantes there might have been found, no doubt, +more than one letter like that we see in the “Rake’s Progress,” “Sir, I +have read your play, and it will not doo.” +</p> +<p> +He was more successful in a literary contest at Saragossa in 1595 in +honour of the canonisation of St. Jacinto, when his composition won the +first prize, three silver spoons. The year before this he had been +appointed a collector of revenues for the kingdom of Granada. In order to +remit the money he had collected more conveniently to the treasury, he +entrusted it to a merchant, who failed and absconded; and as the +bankrupt’s assets were insufficient to cover the whole, he was sent to +prison at Seville in September 1597. The balance against him, however, was +a small one, about 26l., and on giving security for it he was released at +the end of the year. +</p> +<p> +It was as he journeyed from town to town collecting the king’s taxes, that +he noted down those bits of inn and wayside life and character that abound +in the pages of “Don Quixote:” the Benedictine monks with spectacles and +sunshades, mounted on their tall mules; the strollers in costume bound for +the next village; the barber with his basin on his head, on his way to +bleed a patient; the recruit with his breeches in his bundle, tramping +along the road singing; the reapers gathered in the venta gateway +listening to “Felixmarte of Hircania” read out to them; and those little +Hogarthian touches that he so well knew how to bring in, the ox-tail +hanging up with the landlord’s comb stuck in it, the wine-skins at the +bed-head, and those notable examples of hostelry art, Helen going off in +high spirits on Paris’s arm, and Dido on the tower dropping tears as big +as walnuts. Nay, it may well be that on those journeys into remote regions +he came across now and then a specimen of the pauper gentleman, with his +lean hack and his greyhound and his books of chivalry, dreaming away his +life in happy ignorance that the world had changed since his +great-grandfather’s old helmet was new. But it was in Seville that he +found out his true vocation, though he himself would not by any means have +admitted it to be so. It was there, in Triana, that he was first tempted +to try his hand at drawing from life, and first brought his humour into +play in the exquisite little sketch of “Rinconete y Cortadillo,” the germ, +in more ways than one, of “Don Quixote.” +</p> +<p> +Where and when that was written, we cannot tell. After his imprisonment +all trace of Cervantes in his official capacity disappears, from which it +may be inferred that he was not reinstated. That he was still in Seville +in November 1598 appears from a satirical sonnet of his on the elaborate +catafalque erected to testify the grief of the city at the death of Philip +II, but from this up to 1603 we have no clue to his movements. The words +in the preface to the First Part of “Don Quixote” are generally held to be +conclusive that he conceived the idea of the book, and wrote the beginning +of it at least, in a prison, and that he may have done so is extremely +likely. +</p> +<p> +There is a tradition that Cervantes read some portions of his work to a +select audience at the Duke of Bejar’s, which may have helped to make the +book known; but the obvious conclusion is that the First Part of “Don +Quixote” lay on his hands some time before he could find a publisher bold +enough to undertake a venture of so novel a character; and so little faith +in it had Francisco Robles of Madrid, to whom at last he sold it, that he +did not care to incur the expense of securing the copyright for Aragon or +Portugal, contenting himself with that for Castile. The printing was +finished in December, and the book came out with the new year, 1605. It is +often said that “Don Quixote” was at first received coldly. The facts show +just the contrary. No sooner was it in the hands of the public than +preparations were made to issue pirated editions at Lisbon and Valencia, +and to bring out a second edition with the additional copyrights for +Aragon and Portugal, which he secured in February. +</p> +<p> +No doubt it was received with something more than coldness by certain +sections of the community. Men of wit, taste, and discrimination among the +aristocracy gave it a hearty welcome, but the aristocracy in general were +not likely to relish a book that turned their favourite reading into +ridicule and laughed at so many of their favourite ideas. The dramatists +who gathered round Lope as their leader regarded Cervantes as their common +enemy, and it is plain that he was equally obnoxious to the other clique, +the culto poets who had Gongora for their chief. Navarrete, who knew +nothing of the letter above mentioned, tries hard to show that the +relations between Cervantes and Lope were of a very friendly sort, as +indeed they were until “Don Quixote” was written. Cervantes, indeed, to +the last generously and manfully declared his admiration of Lope’s powers, +his unfailing invention, and his marvellous fertility; but in the preface +of the First Part of “Don Quixote” and in the verses of “Urganda the +Unknown,” and one or two other places, there are, if we read between the +lines, sly hits at Lope’s vanities and affectations that argue no personal +good-will; and Lope openly sneers at “Don Quixote” and Cervantes, and +fourteen years after his death gives him only a few lines of cold +commonplace in the “Laurel de Apolo,” that seem all the colder for the +eulogies of a host of nonentities whose names are found nowhere else. +</p> +<p> +In 1601 Valladolid was made the seat of the Court, and at the beginning of +1603 Cervantes had been summoned thither in connection with the balance +due by him to the Treasury, which was still outstanding. He remained at +Valladolid, apparently supporting himself by agencies and scrivener’s work +of some sort; probably drafting petitions and drawing up statements of +claims to be presented to the Council, and the like. So, at least, we +gather from the depositions taken on the occasion of the death of a +gentleman, the victim of a street brawl, who had been carried into the +house in which he lived. In these he himself is described as a man who +wrote and transacted business, and it appears that his household then +consisted of his wife, the natural daughter Isabel de Saavedra already +mentioned, his sister Andrea, now a widow, her daughter Constanza, a +mysterious Magdalena de Sotomayor calling herself his sister, for whom his +biographers cannot account, and a servant-maid. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile “Don Quixote” had been growing in favour, and its author’s name +was now known beyond the Pyrenees. In 1607 an edition was printed at +Brussels. Robles, the Madrid publisher, found it necessary to meet the +demand by a third edition, the seventh in all, in 1608. The popularity of +the book in Italy was such that a Milan bookseller was led to bring out an +edition in 1610; and another was called for in Brussels in 1611. It might +naturally have been expected that, with such proofs before him that he had +hit the taste of the public, Cervantes would have at once set about +redeeming his rather vague promise of a second volume. +</p> +<p> +But, to all appearance, nothing was farther from his thoughts. He had +still by him one or two short tales of the same vintage as those he had +inserted in “Don Quixote” and instead of continuing the adventures of Don +Quixote, he set to work to write more of these “Novelas Exemplares” as he +afterwards called them, with a view to making a book of them. +</p> +<p> +The novels were published in the summer of 1613, with a dedication to the +Conde de Lemos, the Maecenas of the day, and with one of those chatty +confidential prefaces Cervantes was so fond of. In this, eight years and a +half after the First Part of “Don Quixote” had appeared, we get the first +hint of a forthcoming Second Part. “You shall see shortly,” he says, “the +further exploits of Don Quixote and humours of Sancho Panza.” His idea of +“shortly” was a somewhat elastic one, for, as we know by the date to +Sancho’s letter, he had barely one-half of the book completed that time +twelvemonth. +</p> +<p> +But more than poems, or pastorals, or novels, it was his dramatic ambition +that engrossed his thoughts. The same indomitable spirit that kept him +from despair in the bagnios of Algiers, and prompted him to attempt the +escape of himself and his comrades again and again, made him persevere in +spite of failure and discouragement in his efforts to win the ear of the +public as a dramatist. The temperament of Cervantes was essentially +sanguine. The portrait he draws in the preface to the novels, with the +aquiline features, chestnut hair, smooth untroubled forehead, and bright +cheerful eyes, is the very portrait of a sanguine man. Nothing that the +managers might say could persuade him that the merits of his plays would +not be recognised at last if they were only given a fair chance. The old +soldier of the Spanish Salamis was bent on being the Aeschylus of Spain. +He was to found a great national drama, based on the true principles of +art, that was to be the envy of all nations; he was to drive from the +stage the silly, childish plays, the “mirrors of nonsense and models of +folly” that were in vogue through the cupidity of the managers and +shortsightedness of the authors; he was to correct and educate the public +taste until it was ripe for tragedies on the model of the Greek drama—like +the “Numancia” for instance—and comedies that would not only amuse +but improve and instruct. All this he was to do, could he once get a +hearing: there was the initial difficulty. +</p> +<p> +He shows plainly enough, too, that “Don Quixote” and the demolition of the +chivalry romances was not the work that lay next his heart. He was, +indeed, as he says himself in his preface, more a stepfather than a father +to “Don Quixote.” Never was great work so neglected by its author. That it +was written carelessly, hastily, and by fits and starts, was not always +his fault, but it seems clear he never read what he sent to the press. He +knew how the printers had blundered, but he never took the trouble to +correct them when the third edition was in progress, as a man who really +cared for the child of his brain would have done. He appears to have +regarded the book as little more than a mere libro de entretenimiento, an +amusing book, a thing, as he says in the “Viaje,” “to divert the +melancholy moody heart at any time or season.” No doubt he had an +affection for his hero, and was very proud of Sancho Panza. It would have +been strange indeed if he had not been proud of the most humorous creation +in all fiction. He was proud, too, of the popularity and success of the +book, and beyond measure delightful is the naivete with which he shows his +pride in a dozen passages in the Second Part. But it was not the success +he coveted. In all probability he would have given all the success of “Don +Quixote,” nay, would have seen every copy of “Don Quixote” burned in the +Plaza Mayor, for one such success as Lope de Vega was enjoying on an +average once a week. +</p> +<p> +And so he went on, dawdling over “Don Quixote,” adding a chapter now and +again, and putting it aside to turn to “Persiles and Sigismunda”—which, +as we know, was to be the most entertaining book in the language, and the +rival of “Theagenes and Chariclea”—or finishing off one of his +darling comedies; and if Robles asked when “Don Quixote” would be ready, +the answer no doubt was: En breve—shortly, there was time enough for +that. At sixty-eight he was as full of life and hope and plans for the +future as a boy of eighteen. +</p> +<p> +Nemesis was coming, however. He had got as far as Chapter LIX, which at +his leisurely pace he could hardly have reached before October or November +1614, when there was put into his hand a small octave lately printed at +Tarragona, and calling itself “Second Volume of the Ingenious Gentleman +Don Quixote of La Mancha: by the Licentiate Alonso Fernandez de Avellaneda +of Tordesillas.” The last half of Chapter LIX and most of the following +chapters of the Second Part give us some idea of the effect produced upon +him, and his irritation was not likely to be lessened by the reflection +that he had no one to blame but himself. Had Avellaneda, in fact, been +content with merely bringing out a continuation to “Don Quixote,” +Cervantes would have had no reasonable grievance. His own intentions were +expressed in the very vaguest language at the end of the book; nay, in his +last words, “forse altro cantera con miglior plettro,” he seems actually +to invite some one else to continue the work, and he made no sign until +eight years and a half had gone by; by which time Avellaneda’s volume was +no doubt written. +</p> +<p> +In fact Cervantes had no case, or a very bad one, as far as the mere +continuation was concerned. But Avellaneda chose to write a preface to it, +full of such coarse personal abuse as only an ill-conditioned man could +pour out. He taunts Cervantes with being old, with having lost his hand, +with having been in prison, with being poor, with being friendless, +accuses him of envy of Lope’s success, of petulance and querulousness, and +so on; and it was in this that the sting lay. Avellaneda’s reason for this +personal attack is obvious enough. Whoever he may have been, it is clear +that he was one of the dramatists of Lope’s school, for he has the +impudence to charge Cervantes with attacking him as well as Lope in his +criticism on the drama. His identification has exercised the best critics +and baffled all the ingenuity and research that has been brought to bear +on it. Navarrete and Ticknor both incline to the belief that Cervantes +knew who he was; but I must say I think the anger he shows suggests an +invisible assailant; it is like the irritation of a man stung by a +mosquito in the dark. Cervantes from certain solecisms of language +pronounces him to be an Aragonese, and Pellicer, an Aragonese himself, +supports this view and believes him, moreover, to have been an +ecclesiastic, a Dominican probably. +</p> +<p> +Any merit Avellaneda has is reflected from Cervantes, and he is too dull +to reflect much. “Dull and dirty” will always be, I imagine, the verdict +of the vast majority of unprejudiced readers. He is, at best, a poor +plagiarist; all he can do is to follow slavishly the lead given him by +Cervantes; his only humour lies in making Don Quixote take inns for +castles and fancy himself some legendary or historical personage, and +Sancho mistake words, invert proverbs, and display his gluttony; all +through he shows a proclivity to coarseness and dirt, and he has contrived +to introduce two tales filthier than anything by the sixteenth century +novellieri and without their sprightliness. +</p> +<p> +But whatever Avellaneda and his book may be, we must not forget the debt +we owe them. But for them, there can be no doubt, “Don Quixote” would have +come to us a mere torso instead of a complete work. Even if Cervantes had +finished the volume he had in hand, most assuredly he would have left off +with a promise of a Third Part, giving the further adventures of Don +Quixote and humours of Sancho Panza as shepherds. It is plain that he had +at one time an intention of dealing with the pastoral romances as he had +dealt with the books of chivalry, and but for Avellaneda he would have +tried to carry it out. But it is more likely that, with his plans, and +projects, and hopefulness, the volume would have remained unfinished till +his death, and that we should have never made the acquaintance of the Duke +and Duchess, or gone with Sancho to Barataria. +</p> +<p> +From the moment the book came into his hands he seems to have been haunted +by the fear that there might be more Avellanedas in the field, and putting +everything else aside, he set himself to finish off his task and protect +Don Quixote in the only way he could, by killing him. The conclusion is no +doubt a hasty and in some places clumsy piece of work and the frequent +repetition of the scolding administered to Avellaneda becomes in the end +rather wearisome; but it is, at any rate, a conclusion and for that we +must thank Avellaneda. +</p> +<p> +The new volume was ready for the press in February, but was not printed +till the very end of 1615, and during the interval Cervantes put together +the comedies and interludes he had written within the last few years, and, +as he adds plaintively, found no demand for among the managers, and +published them with a preface, worth the book it introduces tenfold, in +which he gives an account of the early Spanish stage, and of his own +attempts as a dramatist. It is needless to say they were put forward by +Cervantes in all good faith and full confidence in their merits. The +reader, however, was not to suppose they were his last word or final +effort in the drama, for he had in hand a comedy called “Engano a los +ojos,” about which, if he mistook not, there would be no question. +</p> +<p> +Of this dramatic masterpiece the world has no opportunity of judging; his +health had been failing for some time, and he died, apparently of dropsy, +on the 23rd of April, 1616, the day on which England lost Shakespeare, +nominally at least, for the English calendar had not yet been reformed. He +died as he had lived, accepting his lot bravely and cheerfully. +</p> +<p> +Was it an unhappy life, that of Cervantes? His biographers all tell us +that it was; but I must say I doubt it. It was a hard life, a life of +poverty, of incessant struggle, of toil ill paid, of disappointment, but +Cervantes carried within himself the antidote to all these evils. His was +not one of those light natures that rise above adversity merely by virtue +of their own buoyancy; it was in the fortitude of a high spirit that he +was proof against it. It is impossible to conceive Cervantes giving way to +despondency or prostrated by dejection. As for poverty, it was with him a +thing to be laughed over, and the only sigh he ever allows to escape him +is when he says, “Happy he to whom Heaven has given a piece of bread for +which he is not bound to give thanks to any but Heaven itself.” Add to all +this his vital energy and mental activity, his restless invention and his +sanguine temperament, and there will be reason enough to doubt whether his +could have been a very unhappy life. He who could take Cervantes’ +distresses together with his apparatus for enduring them would not make so +bad a bargain, perhaps, as far as happiness in life is concerned. +</p> +<p> +Of his burial-place nothing is known except that he was buried, in +accordance with his will, in the neighbouring convent of Trinitarian nuns, +of which it is supposed his daughter, Isabel de Saavedra, was an inmate, +and that a few years afterwards the nuns removed to another convent, +carrying their dead with them. But whether the remains of Cervantes were +included in the removal or not no one knows, and the clue to their +resting-place is now lost beyond all hope. This furnishes perhaps the +least defensible of the items in the charge of neglect brought against his +contemporaries. In some of the others there is a good deal of +exaggeration. To listen to most of his biographers one would suppose that +all Spain was in league not only against the man but against his memory, +or at least that it was insensible to his merits, and left him to live in +misery and die of want. To talk of his hard life and unworthy employments +in Andalusia is absurd. What had he done to distinguish him from thousands +of other struggling men earning a precarious livelihood? True, he was a +gallant soldier, who had been wounded and had undergone captivity and +suffering in his country’s cause, but there were hundreds of others in the +same case. He had written a mediocre specimen of an insipid class of +romance, and some plays which manifestly did not comply with the primary +condition of pleasing: were the playgoers to patronise plays that did not +amuse them, because the author was to produce “Don Quixote” twenty years +afterwards? +</p> +<p> +The scramble for copies which, as we have seen, followed immediately on +the appearance of the book, does not look like general insensibility to +its merits. No doubt it was received coldly by some, but if a man writes a +book in ridicule of periwigs he must make his account with being coldly +received by the periwig wearers and hated by the whole tribe of wigmakers. +If Cervantes had the chivalry-romance readers, the sentimentalists, the +dramatists, and the poets of the period all against him, it was because +“Don Quixote” was what it was; and if the general public did not come +forward to make him comfortable for the rest of his days, it is no more to +be charged with neglect and ingratitude than the English-speaking public +that did not pay off Scott’s liabilities. It did the best it could; it +read his book and liked it and bought it, and encouraged the bookseller to +pay him well for others. +</p> +<p> +It has been also made a reproach to Spain that she has erected no monument +to the man she is proudest of; no monument, that is to say, of him; for +the bronze statue in the little garden of the Plaza de las Cortes, a fair +work of art no doubt, and unexceptionable had it been set up to the local +poet in the market-place of some provincial town, is not worthy of +Cervantes or of Madrid. But what need has Cervantes of “such weak witness +of his name;” or what could a monument do in his case except testify to +the self-glorification of those who had put it up? Si monumentum quoeris, +circumspice. The nearest bookseller’s shop will show what bathos there +would be in a monument to the author of “Don Quixote.” +</p> +<p> +Nine editions of the First Part of “Don Quixote” had already appeared +before Cervantes died, thirty thousand copies in all, according to his own +estimate, and a tenth was printed at Barcelona the year after his death. +So large a number naturally supplied the demand for some time, but by 1634 +it appears to have been exhausted; and from that time down to the present +day the stream of editions has continued to flow rapidly and regularly. +The translations show still more clearly in what request the book has been +from the very outset. In seven years from the completion of the work it +had been translated into the four leading languages of Europe. Except the +Bible, in fact, no book has been so widely diffused as “Don Quixote.” The +“Imitatio Christi” may have been translated into as many different +languages, and perhaps “Robinson Crusoe” and the “Vicar of Wakefield” into +nearly as many, but in multiplicity of translations and editions “Don +Quixote” leaves them all far behind. +</p> +<p> +Still more remarkable is the character of this wide diffusion. “Don +Quixote” has been thoroughly naturalised among people whose ideas about +knight-errantry, if they had any at all, were of the vaguest, who had +never seen or heard of a book of chivalry, who could not possibly feel the +humour of the burlesque or sympathise with the author’s purpose. Another +curious fact is that this, the most cosmopolitan book in the world, is one +of the most intensely national. “Manon Lescaut” is not more thoroughly +French, “Tom Jones” not more English, “Rob Roy” not more Scotch, than “Don +Quixote” is Spanish, in character, in ideas, in sentiment, in local +colour, in everything. What, then, is the secret of this unparalleled +popularity, increasing year by year for well-nigh three centuries? One +explanation, no doubt, is that of all the books in the world, “Don +Quixote” is the most catholic. There is something in it for every sort of +reader, young or old, sage or simple, high or low. As Cervantes himself +says with a touch of pride, “It is thumbed and read and got by heart by +people of all sorts; the children turn its leaves, the young people read +it, the grown men understand it, the old folk praise it.” +</p> +<p> +But it would be idle to deny that the ingredient which, more than its +humour, or its wisdom, or the fertility of invention or knowledge of human +nature it displays, has insured its success with the multitude, is the +vein of farce that runs through it. It was the attack upon the sheep, the +battle with the wine-skins, Mambrino’s helmet, the balsam of Fierabras, +Don Quixote knocked over by the sails of the windmill, Sancho tossed in +the blanket, the mishaps and misadventures of master and man, that were +originally the great attraction, and perhaps are so still to some extent +with the majority of readers. It is plain that “Don Quixote” was generally +regarded at first, and indeed in Spain for a long time, as little more +than a queer droll book, full of laughable incidents and absurd +situations, very amusing, but not entitled to much consideration or care. +All the editions printed in Spain from 1637 to 1771, when the famous +printer Ibarra took it up, were mere trade editions, badly and carelessly +printed on vile paper and got up in the style of chap-books intended only +for popular use, with, in most instances, uncouth illustrations and +clap-trap additions by the publisher. +</p> +<p> +To England belongs the credit of having been the first country to +recognise the right of “Don Quixote” to better treatment than this. The +London edition of 1738, commonly called Lord Carteret’s from having been +suggested by him, was not a mere edition de luxe. It produced “Don +Quixote” in becoming form as regards paper and type, and embellished with +plates which, if not particularly happy as illustrations, were at least +well intentioned and well executed, but it also aimed at correctness of +text, a matter to which nobody except the editors of the Valencia and +Brussels editions had given even a passing thought; and for a first +attempt it was fairly successful, for though some of its emendations are +inadmissible, a good many of them have been adopted by all subsequent +editors. +</p> +<p> +The zeal of publishers, editors, and annotators brought about a remarkable +change of sentiment with regard to “Don Quixote.” A vast number of its +admirers began to grow ashamed of laughing over it. It became almost a +crime to treat it as a humorous book. The humour was not entirely denied, +but, according to the new view, it was rated as an altogether secondary +quality, a mere accessory, nothing more than the stalking-horse under the +presentation of which Cervantes shot his philosophy or his satire, or +whatever it was he meant to shoot; for on this point opinions varied. All +were agreed, however, that the object he aimed at was not the books of +chivalry. He said emphatically in the preface to the First Part and in the +last sentence of the Second, that he had no other object in view than to +discredit these books, and this, to advanced criticism, made it clear that +his object must have been something else. +</p> +<p> +One theory was that the book was a kind of allegory, setting forth the +eternal struggle between the ideal and the real, between the spirit of +poetry and the spirit of prose; and perhaps German philosophy never +evolved a more ungainly or unlikely camel out of the depths of its inner +consciousness. Something of the antagonism, no doubt, is to be found in +“Don Quixote,” because it is to be found everywhere in life, and Cervantes +drew from life. It is difficult to imagine a community in which the +never-ceasing game of cross-purposes between Sancho Panza and Don Quixote +would not be recognized as true to nature. In the stone age, among the +lake dwellers, among the cave men, there were Don Quixotes and Sancho +Panzas; there must have been the troglodyte who never could see the facts +before his eyes, and the troglodyte who could see nothing else. But to +suppose Cervantes deliberately setting himself to expound any such idea in +two stout quarto volumes is to suppose something not only very unlike the +age in which he lived, but altogether unlike Cervantes himself, who would +have been the first to laugh at an attempt of the sort made by anyone +else. +</p> +<p> +The extraordinary influence of the romances of chivalry in his day is +quite enough to account for the genesis of the book. Some idea of the +prodigious development of this branch of literature in the sixteenth +century may be obtained from the scrutiny of Chapter VII, if the reader +bears in mind that only a portion of the romances belonging to by far the +largest group are enumerated. As to its effect upon the nation, there is +abundant evidence. From the time when the Amadises and Palmerins began to +grow popular down to the very end of the century, there is a steady stream +of invective, from men whose character and position lend weight to their +words, against the romances of chivalry and the infatuation of their +readers. Ridicule was the only besom to sweep away that dust. +</p> +<p> +That this was the task Cervantes set himself, and that he had ample +provocation to urge him to it, will be sufficiently clear to those who +look into the evidence; as it will be also that it was not chivalry itself +that he attacked and swept away. Of all the absurdities that, thanks to +poetry, will be repeated to the end of time, there is no greater one than +saying that “Cervantes smiled Spain’s chivalry away.” In the first place +there was no chivalry for him to smile away. Spain’s chivalry had been +dead for more than a century. Its work was done when Granada fell, and as +chivalry was essentially republican in its nature, it could not live under +the rule that Ferdinand substituted for the free institutions of mediaeval +Spain. What he did smile away was not chivalry but a degrading mockery of +it. +</p> +<p> +The true nature of the “right arm” and the “bright array,” before which, +according to the poet, “the world gave ground,” and which Cervantes’ +single laugh demolished, may be gathered from the words of one of his own +countrymen, Don Felix Pacheco, as reported by Captain George Carleton, in +his “Military Memoirs from 1672 to 1713.” “Before the appearance in the +world of that labour of Cervantes,” he said, “it was next to an +impossibility for a man to walk the streets with any delight or without +danger. There were seen so many cavaliers prancing and curvetting before +the windows of their mistresses, that a stranger would have imagined the +whole nation to have been nothing less than a race of knight-errants. But +after the world became a little acquainted with that notable history, the +man that was seen in that once celebrated drapery was pointed at as a Don +Quixote, and found himself the jest of high and low. And I verily believe +that to this, and this only, we owe that dampness and poverty of spirit +which has run through all our councils for a century past, so little +agreeable to those nobler actions of our famous ancestors.” +</p> +<p> +To call “Don Quixote” a sad book, preaching a pessimist view of life, +argues a total misconception of its drift. It would be so if its moral +were that, in this world, true enthusiasm naturally leads to ridicule and +discomfiture. But it preaches nothing of the sort; its moral, so far as it +can be said to have one, is that the spurious enthusiasm that is born of +vanity and self-conceit, that is made an end in itself, not a means to an +end, that acts on mere impulse, regardless of circumstances and +consequences, is mischievous to its owner, and a very considerable +nuisance to the community at large. To those who cannot distinguish +between the one kind and the other, no doubt “Don Quixote” is a sad book; +no doubt to some minds it is very sad that a man who had just uttered so +beautiful a sentiment as that “it is a hard case to make slaves of those +whom God and Nature made free,” should be ungratefully pelted by the +scoundrels his crazy philanthropy had let loose on society; but to others +of a more judicial cast it will be a matter of regret that reckless +self-sufficient enthusiasm is not oftener requited in some such way for +all the mischief it does in the world. +</p> +<p> +A very slight examination of the structure of “Don Quixote” will suffice +to show that Cervantes had no deep design or elaborate plan in his mind +when he began the book. When he wrote those lines in which “with a few +strokes of a great master he sets before us the pauper gentleman,” he had +no idea of the goal to which his imagination was leading him. There can be +little doubt that all he contemplated was a short tale to range with those +he had already written, a tale setting forth the ludicrous results that +might be expected to follow the attempt of a crazy gentleman to act the +part of a knight-errant in modern life. +</p> +<p> +It is plain, for one thing, that Sancho Panza did not enter into the +original scheme, for had Cervantes thought of him he certainly would not +have omitted him in his hero’s outfit, which he obviously meant to be +complete. Him we owe to the landlord’s chance remark in Chapter III that +knights seldom travelled without squires. To try to think of a Don Quixote +without Sancho Panza is like trying to think of a one-bladed pair of +scissors. +</p> +<p> +The story was written at first, like the others, without any division and +without the intervention of Cid Hamete Benengeli; and it seems not +unlikely that Cervantes had some intention of bringing Dulcinea, or +Aldonza Lorenzo, on the scene in person. It was probably the ransacking of +the Don’s library and the discussion on the books of chivalry that first +suggested it to him that his idea was capable of development. What, if +instead of a mere string of farcical misadventures, he were to make his +tale a burlesque of one of these books, caricaturing their style, +incidents, and spirit? +</p> +<p> +In pursuance of this change of plan, he hastily and somewhat clumsily +divided what he had written into chapters on the model of “Amadis,” +invented the fable of a mysterious Arabic manuscript, and set up Cid +Hamete Benengeli in imitation of the almost invariable practice of the +chivalry-romance authors, who were fond of tracing their books to some +recondite source. In working out the new ideas, he soon found the value of +Sancho Panza. Indeed, the keynote, not only to Sancho’s part, but to the +whole book, is struck in the first words Sancho utters when he announces +his intention of taking his ass with him. “About the ass,” we are told, +“Don Quixote hesitated a little, trying whether he could call to mind any +knight-errant taking with him an esquire mounted on ass-back; but no +instance occurred to his memory.” We can see the whole scene at a glance, +the stolid unconsciousness of Sancho and the perplexity of his master, +upon whose perception the incongruity has just forced itself. This is +Sancho’s mission throughout the book; he is an unconscious Mephistopheles, +always unwittingly making mockery of his master’s aspirations, always +exposing the fallacy of his ideas by some unintentional ad absurdum, +always bringing him back to the world of fact and commonplace by force of +sheer stolidity. +</p> +<p> +By the time Cervantes had got his volume of novels off his hands, and +summoned up resolution enough to set about the Second Part in earnest, the +case was very much altered. Don Quixote and Sancho Panza had not merely +found favour, but had already become, what they have never since ceased to +be, veritable entities to the popular imagination. There was no occasion +for him now to interpolate extraneous matter; nay, his readers told him +plainly that what they wanted of him was more Don Quixote and more Sancho +Panza, and not novels, tales, or digressions. To himself, too, his +creations had become realities, and he had become proud of them, +especially of Sancho. He began the Second Part, therefore, under very +different conditions, and the difference makes itself manifest at once. +Even in translation the style will be seen to be far easier, more flowing, +more natural, and more like that of a man sure of himself and of his +audience. Don Quixote and Sancho undergo a change also. In the First Part, +Don Quixote has no character or individuality whatever. He is nothing more +than a crazy representative of the sentiments of the chivalry romances. In +all that he says and does he is simply repeating the lesson he has learned +from his books; and therefore, it is absurd to speak of him in the gushing +strain of the sentimental critics when they dilate upon his nobleness, +disinterestedness, dauntless courage, and so forth. It was the business of +a knight-errant to right wrongs, redress injuries, and succour the +distressed, and this, as a matter of course, he makes his business when he +takes up the part; a knight-errant was bound to be intrepid, and so he +feels bound to cast fear aside. Of all Byron’s melodious nonsense about +Don Quixote, the most nonsensical statement is that “‘t is his virtue +makes him mad!” The exact opposite is the truth; it is his madness makes +him virtuous. +</p> +<p> +In the Second Part, Cervantes repeatedly reminds the reader, as if it was +a point upon which he was anxious there should be no mistake, that his +hero’s madness is strictly confined to delusions on the subject of +chivalry, and that on every other subject he is discreto, one, in fact, +whose faculty of discernment is in perfect order. The advantage of this is +that he is enabled to make use of Don Quixote as a mouthpiece for his own +reflections, and so, without seeming to digress, allow himself the relief +of digression when he requires it, as freely as in a commonplace book. +</p> +<p> +It is true the amount of individuality bestowed upon Don Quixote is not +very great. There are some natural touches of character about him, such as +his mixture of irascibility and placability, and his curious affection for +Sancho together with his impatience of the squire’s loquacity and +impertinence; but in the main, apart from his craze, he is little more +than a thoughtful, cultured gentleman, with instinctive good taste and a +great deal of shrewdness and originality of mind. +</p> +<p> +As to Sancho, it is plain, from the concluding words of the preface to the +First Part, that he was a favourite with his creator even before he had +been taken into favour by the public. An inferior genius, taking him in +hand a second time, would very likely have tried to improve him by making +him more comical, clever, amiable, or virtuous. But Cervantes was too true +an artist to spoil his work in this way. Sancho, when he reappears, is the +old Sancho with the old familiar features; but with a difference; they +have been brought out more distinctly, but at the same time with a careful +avoidance of anything like caricature; the outline has been filled in +where filling in was necessary, and, vivified by a few touches of a +master’s hand, Sancho stands before us as he might in a character portrait +by Velazquez. He is a much more important and prominent figure in the +Second Part than in the First; indeed, it is his matchless mendacity about +Dulcinea that to a great extent supplies the action of the story. +</p> +<p> +His development in this respect is as remarkable as in any other. In the +First Part he displays a great natural gift of lying. His lies are not of +the highly imaginative sort that liars in fiction commonly indulge in; +like Falstaff’s, they resemble the father that begets them; they are +simple, homely, plump lies; plain working lies, in short. But in the +service of such a master as Don Quixote he develops rapidly, as we see +when he comes to palm off the three country wenches as Dulcinea and her +ladies in waiting. It is worth noticing how, flushed by his success in +this instance, he is tempted afterwards to try a flight beyond his powers +in his account of the journey on Clavileno. +</p> +<p> +In the Second Part it is the spirit rather than the incidents of the +chivalry romances that is the subject of the burlesque. Enchantments of +the sort travestied in those of Dulcinea and the Trifaldi and the cave of +Montesinos play a leading part in the later and inferior romances, and +another distinguishing feature is caricatured in Don Quixote’s blind +adoration of Dulcinea. In the romances of chivalry love is either a mere +animalism or a fantastic idolatry. Only a coarse-minded man would care to +make merry with the former, but to one of Cervantes’ humour the latter was +naturally an attractive subject for ridicule. Like everything else in +these romances, it is a gross exaggeration of the real sentiment of +chivalry, but its peculiar extravagance is probably due to the influence +of those masters of hyperbole, the Provencal poets. When a troubadour +professed his readiness to obey his lady in all things, he made it +incumbent upon the next comer, if he wished to avoid the imputation of +tameness and commonplace, to declare himself the slave of her will, which +the next was compelled to cap by some still stronger declaration; and so +expressions of devotion went on rising one above the other like biddings +at an auction, and a conventional language of gallantry and theory of love +came into being that in time permeated the literature of Southern Europe, +and bore fruit, in one direction in the transcendental worship of Beatrice +and Laura, and in another in the grotesque idolatry which found exponents +in writers like Feliciano de Silva. This is what Cervantes deals with in +Don Quixote’s passion for Dulcinea, and in no instance has he carried out +the burlesque more happily. By keeping Dulcinea in the background, and +making her a vague shadowy being of whose very existence we are left in +doubt, he invests Don Quixote’s worship of her virtues and charms with an +additional extravagance, and gives still more point to the caricature of +the sentiment and language of the romances. +</p> +<p> +One of the great merits of “Don Quixote,” and one of the qualities that +have secured its acceptance by all classes of readers and made it the most +cosmopolitan of books, is its simplicity. There are, of course, points +obvious enough to a Spanish seventeenth century audience which do not +immediately strike a reader now-a-days, and Cervantes often takes it for +granted that an allusion will be generally understood which is only +intelligible to a few. For example, on many of his readers in Spain, and +most of his readers out of it, the significance of his choice of a country +for his hero is completely lost. It would be going too far to say that no +one can thoroughly comprehend “Don Quixote” without having seen La Mancha, +but undoubtedly even a glimpse of La Mancha will give an insight into the +meaning of Cervantes such as no commentator can give. Of all the regions +of Spain it is the last that would suggest the idea of romance. Of all the +dull central plateau of the Peninsula it is the dullest tract. There is +something impressive about the grim solitudes of Estremadura; and if the +plains of Leon and Old Castile are bald and dreary, they are studded with +old cities renowned in history and rich in relics of the past. But there +is no redeeming feature in the Manchegan landscape; it has all the +sameness of the desert without its dignity; the few towns and villages +that break its monotony are mean and commonplace, there is nothing +venerable about them, they have not even the picturesqueness of poverty; +indeed, Don Quixote’s own village, Argamasilla, has a sort of oppressive +respectability in the prim regularity of its streets and houses; +everything is ignoble; the very windmills are the ugliest and shabbiest of +the windmill kind. +</p> +<p> +To anyone who knew the country well, the mere style and title of “Don +Quixote of La Mancha” gave the key to the author’s meaning at once. La +Mancha as the knight’s country and scene of his chivalries is of a piece +with the pasteboard helmet, the farm-labourer on ass-back for a squire, +knighthood conferred by a rascally ventero, convicts taken for victims of +oppression, and the rest of the incongruities between Don Quixote’s world +and the world he lived in, between things as he saw them and things as +they were. +</p> +<p> +It is strange that this element of incongruity, underlying the whole +humour and purpose of the book, should have been so little heeded by the +majority of those who have undertaken to interpret “Don Quixote.” It has +been completely overlooked, for example, by the illustrators. To be sure, +the great majority of the artists who illustrated “Don Quixote” knew +nothing whatever of Spain. To them a venta conveyed no idea but the +abstract one of a roadside inn, and they could not therefore do full +justice to the humour of Don Quixote’s misconception in taking it for a +castle, or perceive the remoteness of all its realities from his ideal. +But even when better informed they seem to have no apprehension of the +full force of the discrepancy. Take, for instance, Gustave Dore’s drawing +of Don Quixote watching his armour in the inn-yard. Whether or not the +Venta de Quesada on the Seville road is, as tradition maintains, the inn +described in “Don Quixote,” beyond all question it was just such an +inn-yard as the one behind it that Cervantes had in his mind’s eye, and it +was on just such a rude stone trough as that beside the primitive +draw-well in the corner that he meant Don Quixote to deposit his armour. +Gustave Dore makes it an elaborate fountain such as no arriero ever +watered his mules at in the corral of any venta in Spain, and thereby +entirely misses the point aimed at by Cervantes. It is the mean, prosaic, +commonplace character of all the surroundings and circumstances that gives +a significance to Don Quixote’s vigil and the ceremony that follows. +</p> +<p> +Cervantes’ humour is for the most part of that broader and simpler sort, +the strength of which lies in the perception of the incongruous. It is the +incongruity of Sancho in all his ways, words, and works, with the ideas +and aims of his master, quite as much as the wonderful vitality and truth +to nature of the character, that makes him the most humorous creation in +the whole range of fiction. That unsmiling gravity of which Cervantes was +the first great master, “Cervantes’ serious air,” which sits naturally on +Swift alone, perhaps, of later humourists, is essential to this kind of +humour, and here again Cervantes has suffered at the hands of his +interpreters. Nothing, unless indeed the coarse buffoonery of Phillips, +could be more out of place in an attempt to represent Cervantes, than a +flippant, would-be facetious style, like that of Motteux’s version for +example, or the sprightly, jaunty air, French translators sometimes adopt. +It is the grave matter-of-factness of the narrative, and the apparent +unconsciousness of the author that he is saying anything ludicrous, +anything but the merest commonplace, that give its peculiar flavour to the +humour of Cervantes. His, in fact, is the exact opposite of the humour of +Sterne and the self-conscious humourists. Even when Uncle Toby is at his +best, you are always aware of “the man Sterne” behind him, watching you +over his shoulder to see what effect he is producing. Cervantes always +leaves you alone with Don Quixote and Sancho. He and Swift and the great +humourists always keep themselves out of sight, or, more properly +speaking, never think about themselves at all, unlike our latter-day +school of humourists, who seem to have revived the old horse-collar +method, and try to raise a laugh by some grotesque assumption of +ignorance, imbecility, or bad taste. +</p> +<p> +It is true that to do full justice to Spanish humour in any other language +is well-nigh an impossibility. There is a natural gravity and a sonorous +stateliness about Spanish, be it ever so colloquial, that make an +absurdity doubly absurd, and give plausibility to the most preposterous +statement. This is what makes Sancho Panza’s drollery the despair of the +conscientious translator. Sancho’s curt comments can never fall flat, but +they lose half their flavour when transferred from their native Castilian +into any other medium. But if foreigners have failed to do justice to the +humour of Cervantes, they are no worse than his own countrymen. Indeed, +were it not for the Spanish peasant’s relish of “Don Quixote,” one might +be tempted to think that the great humourist was not looked upon as a +humourist at all in his own country. +</p> +<p> +The craze of Don Quixote seems, in some instances, to have communicated +itself to his critics, making them see things that are not in the book and +run full tilt at phantoms that have no existence save in their own +imaginations. Like a good many critics now-a-days, they forget that +screams are not criticism, and that it is only vulgar tastes that are +influenced by strings of superlatives, three-piled hyperboles, and pompous +epithets. But what strikes one as particularly strange is that while they +deal in extravagant eulogies, and ascribe all manner of imaginary ideas +and qualities to Cervantes, they show no perception of the quality that +ninety-nine out of a hundred of his readers would rate highest in him, and +hold to be the one that raises him above all rivalry. +</p> +<p> +To speak of “Don Quixote” as if it were merely a humorous book would be a +manifest misdescription. Cervantes at times makes it a kind of commonplace +book for occasional essays and criticisms, or for the observations and +reflections and gathered wisdom of a long and stirring life. It is a mine +of shrewd observation on mankind and human nature. Among modern novels +there may be, here and there, more elaborate studies of character, but +there is no book richer in individualised character. What Coleridge said +of Shakespeare in minimis is true of Cervantes; he never, even for the +most temporary purpose, puts forward a lay figure. There is life and +individuality in all his characters, however little they may have to do, +or however short a time they may be before the reader. Samson Carrasco, +the curate, Teresa Panza, Altisidora, even the two students met on the +road to the cave of Montesinos, all live and move and have their being; +and it is characteristic of the broad humanity of Cervantes that there is +not a hateful one among them all. Even poor Maritornes, with her +deplorable morals, has a kind heart of her own and “some faint and distant +resemblance to a Christian about her;” and as for Sancho, though on +dissection we fail to find a lovable trait in him, unless it be a sort of +dog-like affection for his master, who is there that in his heart does not +love him? +</p> +<p> +But it is, after all, the humour of “Don Quixote” that distinguishes it +from all other books of the romance kind. It is this that makes it, as one +of the most judicial-minded of modern critics calls it, “the best novel in +the world beyond all comparison.” It is its varied humour, ranging from +broad farce to comedy as subtle as Shakespeare’s or Moliere’s that has +naturalised it in every country where there are readers, and made it a +classic in every language that has a literature. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> + +<h2>SOME COMMENDATORY VERSES</h2> + +<h3>URGANDA THE UNKNOWN</h3> + +<p class="center"> +To the book of Don Quixote of la Mancha +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +If to be welcomed by the good,<br/> + O Book! thou make thy steady aim,<br/> +No empty chatterer will dare<br/> + To question or dispute thy claim.<br/> +But if perchance thou hast a mind<br/> + To win of idiots approbation,<br/> +Lost labour will be thy reward,<br/> + Though they’ll pretend appreciation.<br/> +<br/> +They say a goodly shade he finds<br/> + Who shelters ’neath a goodly tree;<br/> +And such a one thy kindly star<br/> + In Bejar bath provided thee:<br/> +A royal tree whose spreading boughs<br/> + A show of princely fruit display;<br/> +A tree that bears a noble Duke,<br/> + The Alexander of his day.<br/> +<br/> +Of a Manchegan gentleman<br/> + Thy purpose is to tell the story,<br/> +Relating how he lost his wits<br/> + O’er idle tales of love and glory,<br/> +Of “ladies, arms, and cavaliers:”<br/> + A new Orlando Furioso—<br/> +Innamorato, rather—who<br/> + Won Dulcinea del Toboso.<br/> +<br/> +Put no vain emblems on thy shield;<br/> + All figures—that is bragging play.<br/> +A modest dedication make,<br/> + And give no scoffer room to say,<br/> +“What! Álvaro de Luna here?<br/> + Or is it Hannibal again?<br/> +Or does King Francis at Madrid<br/> + Once more of destiny complain?”<br/> +<br/> +Since Heaven it hath not pleased on thee<br/> + Deep erudition to bestow,<br/> +Or black Latino’s gift of tongues,<br/> + No Latin let thy pages show.<br/> +Ape not philosophy or wit,<br/> + Lest one who cannot comprehend,<br/> +Make a wry face at thee and ask,<br/> + “Why offer flowers to me, my friend?”<br/> +<br/> +Be not a meddler; no affair<br/> + Of thine the life thy neighbours lead:<br/> +Be prudent; oft the random jest<br/> + Recoils upon the jester’s head.<br/> +Thy constant labour let it be<br/> + To earn thyself an honest name,<br/> +For fooleries preserved in print<br/> + Are perpetuity of shame.<br/> +<br/> +A further counsel bear in mind:<br/> + If that thy roof be made of glass,<br/> +It shows small wit to pick up stones<br/> + To pelt the people as they pass.<br/> +Win the attention of the wise,<br/> + And give the thinker food for thought;<br/> +Whoso indites frivolities,<br/> + Will but by simpletons be sought. +</p> + +<h3>AMADIS OF GAUL</h3> + +<p class="center"> +To Don Quixote of la Mancha +</p> + +<p class="center"> +SONNET +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thou that didst imitate that life of mine<br/> + When I in lonely sadness on the great<br/> + Rock Peña Pobre sat disconsolate,<br/> +In self-imposed penance there to pine;<br/> +Thou, whose sole beverage was the bitter brine<br/> + Of thine own tears, and who withouten plate<br/> + Of silver, copper, tin, in lowly state<br/> +Off the bare earth and on earth’s fruits didst dine;<br/> +Live thou, of thine eternal glory sure.<br/> + So long as on the round of the fourth sphere<br/> + The bright Apollo shall his coursers steer,<br/> +In thy renown thou shalt remain secure,<br/> +Thy country’s name in story shall endure,<br/> + And thy sage author stand without a peer. +</p> + +<h3>DON BELIANIS OF GREECE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +To Don Quixote of la Mancha +</p> + +<p class="center"> +SONNET +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In slashing, hewing, cleaving, word and deed,<br/> + I was the foremost knight of chivalry,<br/> + Stout, bold, expert, as e’er the world did see;<br/> +Thousands from the oppressor’s wrong I freed;<br/> +Great were my feats, eternal fame their meed;<br/> + In love I proved my truth and loyalty;<br/> + The hugest giant was a dwarf for me;<br/> +Ever to knighthood’s laws gave I good heed.<br/> +My mastery the Fickle Goddess owned,<br/> + And even Chance, submitting to control,<br/> + Grasped by the forelock, yielded to my will.<br/> +Yet—though above yon horned moon enthroned<br/> + My fortune seems to sit—great Quixote, still<br/> + Envy of thy achievements fills my soul. +</p> + +<h3>THE LADY OF ORIANA</h3> + +<p class="center"> +To Dulcinea del Toboso +</p> + +<p class="center"> +SONNET +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oh, fairest Dulcinea, could it be!<br/> + It were a pleasant fancy to suppose so—<br/> + Could Miraflores change to El Toboso,<br/> +And London’s town to that which shelters thee!<br/> +Oh, could mine but acquire that livery<br/> + Of countless charms thy mind and body show so!<br/> + Or him, now famous grown—thou mad’st him grow so—<br/> +Thy knight, in some dread combat could I see!<br/> +Oh, could I be released from Amadis<br/> + By exercise of such coy chastity<br/> +As led thee gentle Quixote to dismiss!<br/> + Then would my heavy sorrow turn to joy;<br/> + None would I envy, all would envy me,<br/> + And happiness be mine without alloy. +</p> + +<h3>GANDALIN, SQUIRE OF AMADIS OF GAUL,</h3> + +<p class="center"> +To Sancho Panza, squire of Don Quixote +</p> + +<p class="center"> +SONNET +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +All hail, illustrious man! Fortune, when she<br/> + Bound thee apprentice to the esquire trade,<br/> + Her care and tenderness of thee displayed,<br/> +Shaping thy course from misadventure free.<br/> +No longer now doth proud knight-errantry<br/> + Regard with scorn the sickle and the spade;<br/> + Of towering arrogance less count is made<br/> +Than of plain esquire-like simplicity.<br/> +I envy thee thy Dapple, and thy name,<br/> + And those alforjas thou wast wont to stuff<br/> +With comforts that thy providence proclaim.<br/> + Excellent Sancho! hail to thee again!<br/> + To thee alone the Ovid of our Spain<br/> + Does homage with the rustic kiss and cuff. +</p> + +<h3>FROM EL DONOSO, THE MOTLEY POET,</h3> + +<p class="center"> +On Sancho Panza and Rocinante +</p> + +<p class="center"> +ON SANCHO +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I am the esquire Sancho Pan—<br/> +Who served Don Quixote of La Man—;<br/> +But from his service I retreat—,<br/> +Resolved to pass my life discreet—;<br/> +For Villadiego, called the Si—,<br/> +Maintained that only in reti—<br/> +Was found the secret of well-be—,<br/> +According to the “Celesti—:”<br/> +A book divine, except for sin—<br/> +By speech too plain, in my opin—<br/> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +ON ROCINANTE +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I am that Rocinante fa—,<br/> +Great-grandson of great Babie—,<br/> +Who, all for being lean and bon—,<br/> +Had one Don Quixote for an own—;<br/> +But if I matched him well in weak—,<br/> +I never took short commons meek—,<br/> +But kept myself in corn by steal—,<br/> +A trick I learned from Lazaril—,<br/> +When with a piece of straw so neat—<br/> +The blind man of his wine he cheat—. +</p> + +<h3>ORLANDO FURIOSO</h3> + +<p class="center"> +To Don Quixote of La Mancha +</p> + +<p class="center"> +SONNET +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +If thou art not a Peer, peer thou hast none;<br/> + Among a thousand Peers thou art a peer;<br/> + Nor is there room for one when thou art near,<br/> +Unvanquished victor, great unconquered one!<br/> +Orlando, by Angelica undone,<br/> + Am I; o’er distant seas condemned to steer,<br/> + And to Fame’s altars as an offering bear<br/> +Valour respected by Oblivion.<br/> +I cannot be thy rival, for thy fame<br/> + And prowess rise above all rivalry,<br/> + Albeit both bereft of wits we go.<br/> +But, though the Scythian or the Moor to tame<br/> + Was not thy lot, still thou dost rival me:<br/> + Love binds us in a fellowship of woe. +</p> + +<h3>THE KNIGHT OF PHŒBUS</h3> + +<p class="center"> +To Don Quixote of La Mancha +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +My sword was not to be compared with thine<br/> + Phœbus of Spain, marvel of courtesy,<br/> +Nor with thy famous arm this hand of mine<br/> + That smote from east to west as lightnings fly.<br/> + I scorned all empire, and that monarchy<br/> +The rosy east held out did I resign<br/> + For one glance of Claridiana’s eye,<br/> +The bright Aurora for whose love I pine.<br/> +A miracle of constancy my love;<br/> + And banished by her ruthless cruelty,<br/> + This arm had might the rage of Hell to tame.<br/> +But, Gothic Quixote, happier thou dost prove,<br/> + For thou dost live in Dulcinea’s name,<br/> + And famous, honoured, wise, she lives in thee. +</p> + +<h3>FROM SOLISDAN</h3> + +<p class="center"> +To Don Quixote of La Mancha +</p> + +<p class="center"> +SONNET +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Your fantasies, Sir Quixote, it is true,<br/> + That crazy brain of yours have quite upset,<br/> + But aught of base or mean hath never yet<br/> +Been charged by any in reproach to you.<br/> +Your deeds are open proof in all men’s view;<br/> + For you went forth injustice to abate,<br/> + And for your pains sore drubbings did you get<br/> +From many a rascally and ruffian crew.<br/> +If the fair Dulcinea, your heart’s queen,<br/> + Be unrelenting in her cruelty,<br/> + If still your woe be powerless to move her,<br/> + In such hard case your comfort let it be<br/> +That Sancho was a sorry go-between:<br/> + A booby he, hard-hearted she, and you no lover. +</p> + +<h3>DIALOGUE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +Between Babieca and Rocinante +</p> + +<p class="center"> +SONNET +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<i>B</i>. “How comes it, Rocinante, you’re so lean?”<br/> +<i>R</i>. “I’m underfed, with overwork I’m worn.”<br/> +<i>B</i>. “But what becomes of all the hay and corn?”<br/> +<i>R</i>. “My master gives me none; he’s much too mean.”<br/> +<i>B</i>. “Come, come, you show ill-breeding, sir, I ween;<br/> + ’Tis like an ass your master thus to scorn.”<br/> +<i>R</i>. He is an ass, will die an ass, an ass was born;<br/> +Why, he’s in love; what’s plainer to be seen?”<br/> +<i>B</i>. “To be in love is folly?”—<i>R</i>. “No great sense.”<br/> +<i>B</i>. “You’re metaphysical.”—<i>R</i>. “From want of food.”<br/> +<i>B</i>. “Rail at the squire, then.”—<i>R</i>. “Why, what’s the good?<br/> + I might indeed complain of him, I grant ye,<br/> +But, squire or master, where’s the difference?<br/> + They’re both as sorry hacks as Rocinante.” +</p> + +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="p005" id="p005"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p005.jpg (171K)" src="images/p005.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p005.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<p> +Idle reader: thou mayest believe me without any oath that I would this +book, as it is the child of my brain, were the fairest, gayest, and +cleverest that could be imagined. But I could not counteract Nature’s law +that everything shall beget its like; and what, then, could this sterile, +illtilled wit of mine beget but the story of a dry, shrivelled, whimsical +offspring, full of thoughts of all sorts and such as never came into any +other imagination—just what might be begotten in a prison, where +every misery is lodged and every doleful sound makes its dwelling? +Tranquillity, a cheerful retreat, pleasant fields, bright skies, murmuring +brooks, peace of mind, these are the things that go far to make even the +most barren muses fertile, and bring into the world births that fill it +with wonder and delight. Sometimes when a father has an ugly, loutish son, +the love he bears him so blindfolds his eyes that he does not see his +defects, or, rather, takes them for gifts and charms of mind and body, and +talks of them to his friends as wit and grace. I, however—for though +I pass for the father, I am but the stepfather to “Don Quixote”—have +no desire to go with the current of custom, or to implore thee, dearest +reader, almost with tears in my eyes, as others do, to pardon or excuse +the defects thou wilt perceive in this child of mine. Thou art neither its +kinsman nor its friend, thy soul is thine own and thy will as free as any +man’s, whate’er he be, thou art in thine own house and master of it as +much as the king of his taxes and thou knowest the common saying, “Under +my cloak I kill the king;” all which exempts and frees thee from every +consideration and obligation, and thou canst say what thou wilt of the +story without fear of being abused for any ill or rewarded for any good +thou mayest say of it. +</p> +<p> +My wish would be simply to present it to thee plain and unadorned, without +any embellishment of preface or uncountable muster of customary sonnets, +epigrams, and eulogies, such as are commonly put at the beginning of +books. For I can tell thee, though composing it cost me some labour, I +found none greater than the making of this Preface thou art now reading. +Many times did I take up my pen to write it, and many did I lay it down +again, not knowing what to write. One of these times, as I was pondering +with the paper before me, a pen in my ear, my elbow on the desk, and my +cheek in my hand, thinking of what I should say, there came in +unexpectedly a certain lively, clever friend of mine, who, seeing me so +deep in thought, asked the reason; to which I, making no mystery of it, +answered that I was thinking of the Preface I had to make for the story of +“Don Quixote,” which so troubled me that I had a mind not to make any at +all, nor even publish the achievements of so noble a knight. +</p> +<p> +“For, how could you expect me not to feel uneasy about what that ancient +lawgiver they call the Public will say when it sees me, after slumbering +so many years in the silence of oblivion, coming out now with all my years +upon my back, and with a book as dry as a rush, devoid of invention, +meagre in style, poor in thoughts, wholly wanting in learning and wisdom, +without quotations in the margin or annotations at the end, after the +fashion of other books I see, which, though all fables and profanity, are +so full of maxims from Aristotle, and Plato, and the whole herd of +philosophers, that they fill the readers with amazement and convince them +that the authors are men of learning, erudition, and eloquence. And then, +when they quote the Holy Scriptures!—anyone would say they are St. +Thomases or other doctors of the Church, observing as they do a decorum so +ingenious that in one sentence they describe a distracted lover and in the +next deliver a devout little sermon that it is a pleasure and a treat to +hear and read. Of all this there will be nothing in my book, for I have +nothing to quote in the margin or to note at the end, and still less do I +know what authors I follow in it, to place them at the beginning, as all +do, under the letters A, B, C, beginning with Aristotle and ending with +Xenophon, or Zoilus, or Zeuxis, though one was a slanderer and the other a +painter. Also my book must do without sonnets at the beginning, at least +sonnets whose authors are dukes, marquises, counts, bishops, ladies, or +famous poets. Though if I were to ask two or three obliging friends, I +know they would give me them, and such as the productions of those that +have the highest reputation in our Spain could not equal. +</p> +<p> +“In short, my friend,” I continued, “I am determined that Señor Don +Quixote shall remain buried in the archives of his own La Mancha until +Heaven provide some one to garnish him with all those things he stands in +need of; because I find myself, through my shallowness and want of +learning, unequal to supplying them, and because I am by nature shy and +careless about hunting for authors to say what I myself can say without +them. Hence the cogitation and abstraction you found me in, and reason +enough, what you have heard from me.” +</p> +<p> +Hearing this, my friend, giving himself a slap on the forehead and +breaking into a hearty laugh, exclaimed, “Before God, Brother, now am I +disabused of an error in which I have been living all this long time I +have known you, all through which I have taken you to be shrewd and +sensible in all you do; but now I see you are as far from that as the +heaven is from the earth. Is it possible that things of so little moment +and so easy to set right can occupy and perplex a ripe wit like yours, fit +to break through and crush far greater obstacles? By my faith, this comes, +not of any want of ability, but of too much indolence and too little +knowledge of life. Do you want to know if I am telling the truth? Well, +then, attend to me, and you will see how, in the opening and shutting of +an eye, I sweep away all your difficulties, and supply all those +deficiencies which you say check and discourage you from bringing before +the world the story of your famous Don Quixote, the light and mirror of +all knight-errantry.” +</p> +<p> +“Say on,” said I, listening to his talk; “how do you propose to make up +for my diffidence, and reduce to order this chaos of perplexity I am in?” +</p> +<p> +To which he made answer, “Your first difficulty about the sonnets, +epigrams, or complimentary verses which you want for the beginning, and +which ought to be by persons of importance and rank, can be removed if you +yourself take a little trouble to make them; you can afterwards baptise +them, and put any name you like to them, fathering them on Prester John of +the Indies or the Emperor of Trebizond, who, to my knowledge, were said to +have been famous poets: and even if they were not, and any pedants or +bachelors should attack you and question the fact, never care two +maravedis for that, for even if they prove a lie against you they cannot +cut off the hand you wrote it with. +</p> +<p> +“As to references in the margin to the books and authors from whom you +take the aphorisms and sayings you put into your story, it is only +contriving to fit in nicely any sentences or scraps of Latin you may +happen to have by heart, or at any rate that will not give you much +trouble to look up; so as, when you speak of freedom and captivity, to +insert +</p> +<blockquote> +<p> +<i>Non bene pro toto libertas venditur auro;</i> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +and then refer in the margin to Horace, or whoever said it; or, if you +allude to the power of death, to come in with— +</p> +<blockquote> +<p> +<i>Pallida mors Aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,<br /> Regumque +turres.</i> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +“If it be friendship and the love God bids us bear to our enemy, go at +once to the Holy Scriptures, which you can do with a very small amount of +research, and quote no less than the words of God himself: Ego autem dico +vobis: diligite inimicos vestros. If you speak of evil thoughts, turn to +the Gospel: De corde exeunt cogitationes malae. If of the fickleness of +friends, there is Cato, who will give you his distich: +</p> +<blockquote> +<p> +<i>Donec eris felix multos numerabis amicos,<br /> Tempora si fuerint +nubila, solus eris.</i> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +“With these and such like bits of Latin they will take you for a +grammarian at all events, and that now-a-days is no small honour and +profit. +</p> +<p> +“With regard to adding annotations at the end of the book, you may safely +do it in this way. If you mention any giant in your book contrive that it +shall be the giant Goliath, and with this alone, which will cost you +almost nothing, you have a grand note, for you can put—The giant +Golias or Goliath was a Philistine whom the shepherd David slew by a +mighty stone-cast in the Terebinth valley, as is related in the Book of +Kings—in the chapter where you find it written. +</p> +<p> +“Next, to prove yourself a man of erudition in polite literature and +cosmography, manage that the river Tagus shall be named in your story, and +there you are at once with another famous annotation, setting forth—The +river Tagus was so called after a King of Spain: it has its source in such +and such a place and falls into the ocean, kissing the walls of the famous +city of Lisbon, and it is a common belief that it has golden sands, etc. +If you should have anything to do with robbers, I will give you the story +of Cacus, for I have it by heart; if with loose women, there is the Bishop +of Mondonedo, who will give you the loan of Lamia, Laida, and Flora, any +reference to whom will bring you great credit; if with hard-hearted ones, +Ovid will furnish you with Medea; if with witches or enchantresses, Homer +has Calypso, and Virgil Circe; if with valiant captains, Julius Caesar +himself will lend you himself in his own ‘Commentaries,’ and Plutarch will +give you a thousand Alexanders. If you should deal with love, with two +ounces you may know of Tuscan you can go to Leon the Hebrew, who will +supply you to your heart’s content; or if you should not care to go to +foreign countries you have at home Fonseca’s ‘Of the Love of God,’ in +which is condensed all that you or the most imaginative mind can want on +the subject. In short, all you have to do is to manage to quote these +names, or refer to these stories I have mentioned, and leave it to me to +insert the annotations and quotations, and I swear by all that’s good to +fill your margins and use up four sheets at the end of the book. +</p> +<p> +“Now let us come to those references to authors which other books have, +and you want for yours. The remedy for this is very simple: You have only +to look out for some book that quotes them all, from A to Z as you say +yourself, and then insert the very same alphabet in your book, and though +the imposition may be plain to see, because you have so little need to +borrow from them, that is no matter; there will probably be some simple +enough to believe that you have made use of them all in this plain, +artless story of yours. At any rate, if it answers no other purpose, this +long catalogue of authors will serve to give a surprising look of +authority to your book. Besides, no one will trouble himself to verify +whether you have followed them or whether you have not, being no way +concerned in it; especially as, if I mistake not, this book of yours has +no need of any one of those things you say it wants, for it is, from +beginning to end, an attack upon the books of chivalry, of which Aristotle +never dreamt, nor St. Basil said a word, nor Cicero had any knowledge; nor +do the niceties of truth nor the observations of astrology come within the +range of its fanciful vagaries; nor have geometrical measurements or +refutations of the arguments used in rhetoric anything to do with it; nor +does it mean to preach to anybody, mixing up things human and divine, a +sort of motley in which no Christian understanding should dress itself. It +has only to avail itself of truth to nature in its composition, and the +more perfect the imitation the better the work will be. And as this piece +of yours aims at nothing more than to destroy the authority and influence +which books of chivalry have in the world and with the public, there is no +need for you to go a-begging for aphorisms from philosophers, precepts +from Holy Scripture, fables from poets, speeches from orators, or miracles +from saints; but merely to take care that your style and diction run +musically, pleasantly, and plainly, with clear, proper, and well-placed +words, setting forth your purpose to the best of your power, and putting +your ideas intelligibly, without confusion or obscurity. Strive, too, that +in reading your story the melancholy may be moved to laughter, and the +merry made merrier still; that the simple shall not be wearied, that the +judicious shall admire the invention, that the grave shall not despise it, +nor the wise fail to praise it. Finally, keep your aim fixed on the +destruction of that ill-founded edifice of the books of chivalry, hated by +some and praised by many more; for if you succeed in this you will have +achieved no small success.” +</p> +<p> +In profound silence I listened to what my friend said, and his +observations made such an impression on me that, without attempting to +question them, I admitted their soundness, and out of them I determined to +make this Preface; wherein, gentle reader, thou wilt perceive my friend’s +good sense, my good fortune in finding such an adviser in such a time of +need, and what thou hast gained in receiving, without addition or +alteration, the story of the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, who is held +by all the inhabitants of the district of the Campo de Montiel to have +been the chastest lover and the bravest knight that has for many years +been seen in that neighbourhood. I have no desire to magnify the service I +render thee in making thee acquainted with so renowned and honoured a +knight, but I do desire thy thanks for the acquaintance thou wilt make +with the famous Sancho Panza, his squire, in whom, to my thinking, I have +given thee condensed all the squirely drolleries that are scattered +through the swarm of the vain books of chivalry. And so—may God give +thee health, and not forget me. Vale. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +DEDICATION OF PART I +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<p> +TO THE DUKE OF BEJAR, MARQUIS OF GIBRALEON, COUNT OF BENALCAZAR AND +BANARES, VICECOUNT OF THE PUEBLA DE ALCOCER, MASTER OF THE TOWNS OF +CAPILLA, CURIEL AND BURGUILLOS +</p> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<p> +In belief of the good reception and honours that Your Excellency bestows +on all sort of books, as prince so inclined to favor good arts, chiefly +those who by their nobleness do not submit to the service and bribery of +the vulgar, I have determined bringing to light The Ingenious Gentleman +Don Quixote of la Mancha, in shelter of Your Excellency’s glamorous name, +to whom, with the obeisance I owe to such grandeur, I pray to receive it +agreeably under his protection, so that in this shadow, though deprived of +that precious ornament of elegance and erudition that clothe the works +composed in the houses of those who know, it dares appear with assurance +in the judgment of some who, trespassing the bounds of their own +ignorance, use to condemn with more rigour and less justice the writings +of others. It is my earnest hope that Your Excellency’s good counsel in +regard to my honourable purpose, will not disdain the littleness of so +humble a service. +</p> +<p> +Miguel de Cervantes +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="e00.jpg (24K)" src="images/e00.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch1" id="ch1"></a>CHAPTER I. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF THE CHARACTER AND PURSUITS OF THE FAMOUS GENTLEMAN DON +QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="p007" id="p007"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p007.jpg (150K)" src="images/p007.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p007.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a> +</p> +<p> +In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to +mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a lance +in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound for +coursing. An olla of rather more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, +scraps on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so extra on +Sundays, made away with three-quarters of his income. The rest of it went +in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes to match for +holidays, while on week-days he made a brave figure in his best homespun. +He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty, and a +lad for the field and market-place, who used to saddle the hack as well as +handle the bill-hook. The age of this gentleman of ours was bordering on +fifty; he was of a hardy habit, spare, gaunt-featured, a very early riser +and a great sportsman. They will have it his surname was Quixada or +Quesada (for here there is some difference of opinion among the authors +who write on the subject), although from reasonable conjectures it seems +plain that he was called Quexana. This, however, is of but little +importance to our tale; it will be enough not to stray a hair’s breadth +from the truth in the telling of it. +</p> +<p> +You must know, then, that the above-named gentleman whenever he was at +leisure (which was mostly all the year round) gave himself up to reading +books of chivalry with such ardour and avidity that he almost entirely +neglected the pursuit of his field-sports, and even the management of his +property; and to such a pitch did his eagerness and infatuation go that he +sold many an acre of tillageland to buy books of chivalry to read, and +brought home as many of them as he could get. But of all there were none +he liked so well as those of the famous Feliciano de Silva’s composition, +for their lucidity of style and complicated conceits were as pearls in his +sight, particularly when in his reading he came upon courtships and +cartels, where he often found passages like “the reason of the unreason +with which my reason is afflicted so weakens my reason that with reason I +murmur at your beauty;” or again, “the high heavens, that of your divinity +divinely fortify you with the stars, render you deserving of the desert +your greatness deserves.” Over conceits of this sort the poor gentleman +lost his wits, and used to lie awake striving to understand them and worm +the meaning out of them; what Aristotle himself could not have made out or +extracted had he come to life again for that special purpose. He was not +at all easy about the wounds which Don Belianis gave and took, because it +seemed to him that, great as were the surgeons who had cured him, he must +have had his face and body covered all over with seams and scars. He +commended, however, the author’s way of ending his book with the promise +of that interminable adventure, and many a time was he tempted to take up +his pen and finish it properly as is there proposed, which no doubt he +would have done, and made a successful piece of work of it too, had not +greater and more absorbing thoughts prevented him. +</p> +<p> +Many an argument did he have with the curate of his village (a learned +man, and a graduate of Siguenza) as to which had been the better knight, +Palmerin of England or Amadis of Gaul. Master Nicholas, the village +barber, however, used to say that neither of them came up to the Knight of +Phoebus, and that if there was any that could compare with him it was Don +Galaor, the brother of Amadis of Gaul, because he had a spirit that was +equal to every occasion, and was no finikin knight, nor lachrymose like +his brother, while in the matter of valour he was not a whit behind him. +In short, he became so absorbed in his books that he spent his nights from +sunset to sunrise, and his days from dawn to dark, poring over them; and +what with little sleep and much reading his brains got so dry that he lost +his wits. His fancy grew full of what he used to read about in his books, +enchantments, quarrels, battles, challenges, wounds, wooings, loves, +agonies, and all sorts of impossible nonsense; and it so possessed his +mind that the whole fabric of invention and fancy he read of was true, +that to him no history in the world had more reality in it. He used to say +the Cid Ruy Diaz was a very good knight, but that he was not to be +compared with the Knight of the Burning Sword who with one back-stroke cut +in half two fierce and monstrous giants. He thought more of Bernardo del +Carpio because at Roncesvalles he slew Roland in spite of enchantments, +availing himself of the artifice of Hercules when he strangled Antaeus the +son of Terra in his arms. He approved highly of the giant Morgante, +because, although of the giant breed which is always arrogant and +ill-conditioned, he alone was affable and well-bred. But above all he +admired Reinaldos of Montalban, especially when he saw him sallying forth +from his castle and robbing everyone he met, and when beyond the seas he +stole that image of Mahomet which, as his history says, was entirely of +gold. To have a bout of kicking at that traitor of a Ganelon he would have +given his housekeeper, and his niece into the bargain. +</p> +<p> +In short, his wits being quite gone, he hit upon the strangest notion that +ever madman in this world hit upon, and that was that he fancied it was +right and requisite, as well for the support of his own honour as for the +service of his country, that he should make a knight-errant of himself, +roaming the world over in full armour and on horseback in quest of +adventures, and putting in practice himself all that he had read of as +being the usual practices of knights-errant; righting every kind of wrong, +and exposing himself to peril and danger from which, in the issue, he was +to reap eternal renown and fame. Already the poor man saw himself crowned +by the might of his arm Emperor of Trebizond at least; and so, led away by +the intense enjoyment he found in these pleasant fancies, he set himself +forthwith to put his scheme into execution. +</p> +<p> +The first thing he did was to clean up some armour that had belonged to +his great-grandfather, and had been for ages lying forgotten in a corner +eaten with rust and covered with mildew. He scoured and polished it as +best he could, but he perceived one great defect in it, that it had no +closed helmet, nothing but a simple morion. This deficiency, however, his +ingenuity supplied, for he contrived a kind of half-helmet of pasteboard +which, fitted on to the morion, looked like a whole one. It is true that, +in order to see if it was strong and fit to stand a cut, he drew his sword +and gave it a couple of slashes, the first of which undid in an instant +what had taken him a week to do. The ease with which he had knocked it to +pieces disconcerted him somewhat, and to guard against that danger he set +to work again, fixing bars of iron on the inside until he was satisfied +with its strength; and then, not caring to try any more experiments with +it, he passed it and adopted it as a helmet of the most perfect +construction. +</p> +<p> +He next proceeded to inspect his hack, which, with more quartos than a +real and more blemishes than the steed of Gonela, that “tantum pellis et +ossa fuit,” surpassed in his eyes the Bucephalus of Alexander or the +Babieca of the Cid. Four days were spent in thinking what name to give +him, because (as he said to himself) it was not right that a horse +belonging to a knight so famous, and one with such merits of his own, +should be without some distinctive name, and he strove to adapt it so as +to indicate what he had been before belonging to a knight-errant, and what +he then was; for it was only reasonable that, his master taking a new +character, he should take a new name, and that it should be a +distinguished and full-sounding one, befitting the new order and calling +he was about to follow. And so, after having composed, struck out, +rejected, added to, unmade, and remade a multitude of names out of his +memory and fancy, he decided upon calling him Rocinante, a name, to his +thinking, lofty, sonorous, and significant of his condition as a hack +before he became what he now was, the first and foremost of all the hacks +in the world. +</p> +<p> +Having got a name for his horse so much to his taste, he was anxious to +get one for himself, and he was eight days more pondering over this point, +till at last he made up his mind to call himself “Don Quixote,” whence, as +has been already said, the authors of this veracious history have inferred +that his name must have been beyond a doubt Quixada, and not Quesada as +others would have it. Recollecting, however, that the valiant Amadis was +not content to call himself curtly Amadis and nothing more, but added the +name of his kingdom and country to make it famous, and called himself +Amadis of Gaul, he, like a good knight, resolved to add on the name of +his, and to style himself Don Quixote of La Mancha, whereby, he +considered, he described accurately his origin and country, and did honour +to it in taking his surname from it. +</p> +<p> +So then, his armour being furbished, his morion turned into a helmet, his +hack christened, and he himself confirmed, he came to the conclusion that +nothing more was needed now but to look out for a lady to be in love with; +for a knight-errant without love was like a tree without leaves or fruit, +or a body without a soul. As he said to himself, “If, for my sins, or by +my good fortune, I come across some giant hereabouts, a common occurrence +with knights-errant, and overthrow him in one onslaught, or cleave him +asunder to the waist, or, in short, vanquish and subdue him, will it not +be well to have some one I may send him to as a present, that he may come +in and fall on his knees before my sweet lady, and in a humble, submissive +voice say, ‘I am the giant Caraculiambro, lord of the island of +Malindrania, vanquished in single combat by the never sufficiently +extolled knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, who has commanded me to present +myself before your Grace, that your Highness dispose of me at your +pleasure’?” Oh, how our good gentleman enjoyed the delivery of this +speech, especially when he had thought of some one to call his Lady! There +was, so the story goes, in a village near his own a very good-looking +farm-girl with whom he had been at one time in love, though, so far as is +known, she never knew it nor gave a thought to the matter. Her name was +Aldonza Lorenzo, and upon her he thought fit to confer the title of Lady +of his Thoughts; and after some search for a name which should not be out +of harmony with her own, and should suggest and indicate that of a +princess and great lady, he decided upon calling her Dulcinea del Toboso—she +being of El Toboso—a name, to his mind, musical, uncommon, and +significant, like all those he had already bestowed upon himself and the +things belonging to him. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="p007b" id="p007b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p007b.jpg (61K)" src="images/p007b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch2" id="ch2"></a>CHAPTER II. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF THE FIRST SALLY THE INGENIOUS DON QUIXOTE MADE FROM HOME +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="p007c" id="p007c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p007c.jpg (97K)" src="images/p007c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p007c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +These preliminaries settled, he did not care to put off any longer the +execution of his design, urged on to it by the thought of all the world +was losing by his delay, seeing what wrongs he intended to right, +grievances to redress, injustices to repair, abuses to remove, and duties +to discharge. So, without giving notice of his intention to anyone, and +without anybody seeing him, one morning before the dawning of the day +(which was one of the hottest of the month of July) he donned his suit of +armour, mounted Rocinante with his patched-up helmet on, braced his +buckler, took his lance, and by the back door of the yard sallied forth +upon the plain in the highest contentment and satisfaction at seeing with +what ease he had made a beginning with his grand purpose. But scarcely did +he find himself upon the open plain, when a terrible thought struck him, +one all but enough to make him abandon the enterprise at the very outset. +It occurred to him that he had not been dubbed a knight, and that +according to the law of chivalry he neither could nor ought to bear arms +against any knight; and that even if he had been, still he ought, as a +novice knight, to wear white armour, without a device upon the shield +until by his prowess he had earned one. These reflections made him waver +in his purpose, but his craze being stronger than any reasoning, he made +up his mind to have himself dubbed a knight by the first one he came +across, following the example of others in the same case, as he had read +in the books that brought him to this pass. As for white armour, he +resolved, on the first opportunity, to scour his until it was whiter than +an ermine; and so comforting himself he pursued his way, taking that which +his horse chose, for in this he believed lay the essence of adventures. +</p> +<p> +Thus setting out, our new-fledged adventurer paced along, talking to +himself and saying, “Who knows but that in time to come, when the +veracious history of my famous deeds is made known, the sage who writes +it, when he has to set forth my first sally in the early morning, will do +it after this fashion? ‘Scarce had the rubicund Apollo spread o’er the +face of the broad spacious earth the golden threads of his bright hair, +scarce had the little birds of painted plumage attuned their notes to hail +with dulcet and mellifluous harmony the coming of the rosy Dawn, that, +deserting the soft couch of her jealous spouse, was appearing to mortals +at the gates and balconies of the Manchegan horizon, when the renowned +knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, quitting the lazy down, mounted his +celebrated steed Rocinante and began to traverse the ancient and famous +Campo de Montiel;’” which in fact he was actually traversing. “Happy the +age, happy the time,” he continued, “in which shall be made known my deeds +of fame, worthy to be moulded in brass, carved in marble, limned in +pictures, for a memorial for ever. And thou, O sage magician, whoever thou +art, to whom it shall fall to be the chronicler of this wondrous history, +forget not, I entreat thee, my good Rocinante, the constant companion of +my ways and wanderings.” Presently he broke out again, as if he were +love-stricken in earnest, “O Princess Dulcinea, lady of this captive +heart, a grievous wrong hast thou done me to drive me forth with scorn, +and with inexorable obduracy banish me from the presence of thy beauty. O +lady, deign to hold in remembrance this heart, thy vassal, that thus in +anguish pines for love of thee.” +</p> +<p> +So he went on stringing together these and other absurdities, all in the +style of those his books had taught him, imitating their language as well +as he could; and all the while he rode so slowly and the sun mounted so +rapidly and with such fervour that it was enough to melt his brains if he +had any. Nearly all day he travelled without anything remarkable happening +to him, at which he was in despair, for he was anxious to encounter some +one at once upon whom to try the might of his strong arm. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="p008" id="p008"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p008.jpg (289K)" src="images/p008.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p008.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Writers there are who say the first adventure he met with was that of +Puerto Lapice; others say it was that of the windmills; but what I have +ascertained on this point, and what I have found written in the annals of +La Mancha, is that he was on the road all day, and towards nightfall his +hack and he found themselves dead tired and hungry, when, looking all +around to see if he could discover any castle or shepherd’s shanty where +he might refresh himself and relieve his sore wants, he perceived not far +out of his road an inn, which was as welcome as a star guiding him to the +portals, if not the palaces, of his redemption; and quickening his pace he +reached it just as night was setting in. At the door were standing two +young women, girls of the district as they call them, on their way to +Seville with some carriers who had chanced to halt that night at the inn; +and as, happen what might to our adventurer, everything he saw or imaged +seemed to him to be and to happen after the fashion of what he read of, +the moment he saw the inn he pictured it to himself as a castle with its +four turrets and pinnacles of shining silver, not forgetting the +drawbridge and moat and all the belongings usually ascribed to castles of +the sort. To this inn, which to him seemed a castle, he advanced, and at a +short distance from it he checked Rocinante, hoping that some dwarf would +show himself upon the battlements, and by sound of trumpet give notice +that a knight was approaching the castle. But seeing that they were slow +about it, and that Rocinante was in a hurry to reach the stable, he made +for the inn door, and perceived the two gay damsels who were standing +there, and who seemed to him to be two fair maidens or lovely ladies +taking their ease at the castle gate. +</p> +<p> +At this moment it so happened that a swineherd who was going through the +stubbles collecting a drove of pigs (for, without any apology, that is +what they are called) gave a blast of his horn to bring them together, and +forthwith it seemed to Don Quixote to be what he was expecting, the signal +of some dwarf announcing his arrival; and so with prodigious satisfaction +he rode up to the inn and to the ladies, who, seeing a man of this sort +approaching in full armour and with lance and buckler, were turning in +dismay into the inn, when Don Quixote, guessing their fear by their +flight, raising his pasteboard visor, disclosed his dry dusty visage, and +with courteous bearing and gentle voice addressed them, “Your ladyships +need not fly or fear any rudeness, for that it belongs not to the order of +knighthood which I profess to offer to anyone, much less to highborn +maidens as your appearance proclaims you to be.” The girls were looking at +him and straining their eyes to make out the features which the clumsy +visor obscured, but when they heard themselves called maidens, a thing so +much out of their line, they could not restrain their laughter, which made +Don Quixote wax indignant, and say, “Modesty becomes the fair, and +moreover laughter that has little cause is great silliness; this, however, +I say not to pain or anger you, for my desire is none other than to serve +you.” +</p> +<p> +The incomprehensible language and the unpromising looks of our cavalier +only increased the ladies’ laughter, and that increased his irritation, +and matters might have gone farther if at that moment the landlord had not +come out, who, being a very fat man, was a very peaceful one. He, seeing +this grotesque figure clad in armour that did not match any more than his +saddle, bridle, lance, buckler, or corselet, was not at all indisposed to +join the damsels in their manifestations of amusement; but, in truth, +standing in awe of such a complicated armament, he thought it best to +speak him fairly, so he said, “Señor Caballero, if your worship wants +lodging, bating the bed (for there is not one in the inn) there is plenty +of everything else here.” Don Quixote, observing the respectful bearing of +the Alcaide of the fortress (for so innkeeper and inn seemed in his eyes), +made answer, “Sir Castellan, for me anything will suffice, for +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘My armour is my only wear, +My only rest the fray.’” +</pre> +<p> +The host fancied he called him Castellan because he took him for a “worthy +of Castile,” though he was in fact an Andalusian, and one from the strand +of San Lucar, as crafty a thief as Cacus and as full of tricks as a +student or a page. “In that case,” said he, +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“‘Your bed is on the flinty rock, +Your sleep to watch alway;’ +</pre> +<p> +and if so, you may dismount and safely reckon upon any quantity of +sleeplessness under this roof for a twelvemonth, not to say for a single +night.” So saying, he advanced to hold the stirrup for Don Quixote, who +got down with great difficulty and exertion (for he had not broken his +fast all day), and then charged the host to take great care of his horse, +as he was the best bit of flesh that ever ate bread in this world. The +landlord eyed him over but did not find him as good as Don Quixote said, +nor even half as good; and putting him up in the stable, he returned to +see what might be wanted by his guest, whom the damsels, who had by this +time made their peace with him, were now relieving of his armour. They had +taken off his breastplate and backpiece, but they neither knew nor saw how +to open his gorget or remove his make-shift helmet, for he had fastened it +with green ribbons, which, as there was no untying the knots, required to +be cut. This, however, he would not by any means consent to, so he +remained all the evening with his helmet on, the drollest and oddest +figure that can be imagined; and while they were removing his armour, +taking the baggages who were about it for ladies of high degree belonging +to the castle, he said to them with great sprightliness: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Oh, never, surely, was there knight +So served by hand of dame, +As served was he, Don Quixote hight, +When from his town he came; +With maidens waiting on himself, +Princesses on his hack— +</pre> +<p> +—or Rocinante, for that, ladies mine, is my horse’s name, and Don +Quixote of La Mancha is my own; for though I had no intention of declaring +myself until my achievements in your service and honour had made me known, +the necessity of adapting that old ballad of Lancelot to the present +occasion has given you the knowledge of my name altogether prematurely. A +time, however, will come for your ladyships to command and me to obey, and +then the might of my arm will show my desire to serve you.” +</p> +<p> +The girls, who were not used to hearing rhetoric of this sort, had nothing +to say in reply; they only asked him if he wanted anything to eat. “I +would gladly eat a bit of something,” said Don Quixote, “for I feel it +would come very seasonably.” The day happened to be a Friday, and in the +whole inn there was nothing but some pieces of the fish they call in +Castile “abadejo,” in Andalusia “bacallao,” and in some places +“curadillo,” and in others “troutlet;” so they asked him if he thought he +could eat troutlet, for there was no other fish to give him. “If there be +troutlets enough,” said Don Quixote, “they will be the same thing as a +trout; for it is all one to me whether I am given eight reals in small +change or a piece of eight; moreover, it may be that these troutlets are +like veal, which is better than beef, or kid, which is better than goat. +But whatever it be let it come quickly, for the burden and pressure of +arms cannot be borne without support to the inside.” They laid a table for +him at the door of the inn for the sake of the air, and the host brought +him a portion of ill-soaked and worse cooked stockfish, and a piece of +bread as black and mouldy as his own armour; but a laughable sight it was +to see him eating, for having his helmet on and the beaver up, he could +not with his own hands put anything into his mouth unless some one else +placed it there, and this service one of the ladies rendered him. But to +give him anything to drink was impossible, or would have been so had not +the landlord bored a reed, and putting one end in his mouth poured the +wine into him through the other; all which he bore with patience rather +than sever the ribbons of his helmet. +</p> +<p> +While this was going on there came up to the inn a sowgelder, who, as he +approached, sounded his reed pipe four or five times, and thereby +completely convinced Don Quixote that he was in some famous castle, and +that they were regaling him with music, and that the stockfish was trout, +the bread the whitest, the wenches ladies, and the landlord the castellan +of the castle; and consequently he held that his enterprise and sally had +been to some purpose. But still it distressed him to think he had not been +dubbed a knight, for it was plain to him he could not lawfully engage in +any adventure without receiving the order of knighthood. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="e02.jpg (39K)" src="images/e02.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch3" id="ch3"></a>CHAPTER III. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHEREIN IS RELATED THE DROLL WAY IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE HAD HIMSELF DUBBED A +KNIGHT +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="p009" id="p009"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p009.jpg (164K)" src="images/p009.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p009.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Harassed by this reflection, he made haste with his scanty pothouse +supper, and having finished it called the landlord, and shutting himself +into the stable with him, fell on his knees before him, saying, “From this +spot I rise not, valiant knight, until your courtesy grants me the boon I +seek, one that will redound to your praise and the benefit of the human +race.” The landlord, seeing his guest at his feet and hearing a speech of +this kind, stood staring at him in bewilderment, not knowing what to do or +say, and entreating him to rise, but all to no purpose until he had agreed +to grant the boon demanded of him. “I looked for no less, my lord, from +your High Magnificence,” replied Don Quixote, “and I have to tell you that +the boon I have asked and your liberality has granted is that you shall +dub me knight to-morrow morning, and that to-night I shall watch my arms +in the chapel of this your castle; thus to-morrow, as I have said, will be +accomplished what I so much desire, enabling me lawfully to roam through +all the four quarters of the world seeking adventures on behalf of those +in distress, as is the duty of chivalry and of knights-errant like myself, +whose ambition is directed to such deeds.” +</p> +<p> +The landlord, who, as has been mentioned, was something of a wag, and had +already some suspicion of his guest’s want of wits, was quite convinced of +it on hearing talk of this kind from him, and to make sport for the night +he determined to fall in with his humour. So he told him he was quite +right in pursuing the object he had in view, and that such a motive was +natural and becoming in cavaliers as distinguished as he seemed and his +gallant bearing showed him to be; and that he himself in his younger days +had followed the same honourable calling, roaming in quest of adventures +in various parts of the world, among others the Curing-grounds of Malaga, +the Isles of Riaran, the Precinct of Seville, the Little Market of +Segovia, the Olivera of Valencia, the Rondilla of Granada, the Strand of +San Lucar, the Colt of Cordova, the Taverns of Toledo, and divers other +quarters, where he had proved the nimbleness of his feet and the lightness +of his fingers, doing many wrongs, cheating many widows, ruining maids and +swindling minors, and, in short, bringing himself under the notice of +almost every tribunal and court of justice in Spain; until at last he had +retired to this castle of his, where he was living upon his property and +upon that of others; and where he received all knights-errant of whatever +rank or condition they might be, all for the great love he bore them and +that they might share their substance with him in return for his +benevolence. He told him, moreover, that in this castle of his there was +no chapel in which he could watch his armour, as it had been pulled down +in order to be rebuilt, but that in a case of necessity it might, he knew, +be watched anywhere, and he might watch it that night in a courtyard of +the castle, and in the morning, God willing, the requisite ceremonies +might be performed so as to have him dubbed a knight, and so thoroughly +dubbed that nobody could be more so. He asked if he had any money with +him, to which Don Quixote replied that he had not a farthing, as in the +histories of knights-errant he had never read of any of them carrying any. +On this point the landlord told him he was mistaken; for, though not +recorded in the histories, because in the author’s opinion there was no +need to mention anything so obvious and necessary as money and clean +shirts, it was not to be supposed therefore that they did not carry them, +and he might regard it as certain and established that all knights-errant +(about whom there were so many full and unimpeachable books) carried +well-furnished purses in case of emergency, and likewise carried shirts +and a little box of ointment to cure the wounds they received. For in +those plains and deserts where they engaged in combat and came out +wounded, it was not always that there was some one to cure them, unless +indeed they had for a friend some sage magician to succour them at once by +fetching through the air upon a cloud some damsel or dwarf with a vial of +water of such virtue that by tasting one drop of it they were cured of +their hurts and wounds in an instant and left as sound as if they had not +received any damage whatever. But in case this should not occur, the +knights of old took care to see that their squires were provided with +money and other requisites, such as lint and ointments for healing +purposes; and when it happened that knights had no squires (which was +rarely and seldom the case) they themselves carried everything in cunning +saddle-bags that were hardly seen on the horse’s croup, as if it were +something else of more importance, because, unless for some such reason, +carrying saddle-bags was not very favourably regarded among +knights-errant. He therefore advised him (and, as his godson so soon to +be, he might even command him) never from that time forth to travel +without money and the usual requirements, and he would find the advantage +of them when he least expected it. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote promised to follow his advice scrupulously, and it was +arranged forthwith that he should watch his armour in a large yard at one +side of the inn; so, collecting it all together, Don Quixote placed it on +a trough that stood by the side of a well, and bracing his buckler on his +arm he grasped his lance and began with a stately air to march up and down +in front of the trough, and as he began his march night began to fall. +</p> +<p> +The landlord told all the people who were in the inn about the craze of +his guest, the watching of the armour, and the dubbing ceremony he +contemplated. Full of wonder at so strange a form of madness, they flocked +to see it from a distance, and observed with what composure he sometimes +paced up and down, or sometimes, leaning on his lance, gazed on his armour +without taking his eyes off it for ever so long; and as the night closed +in with a light from the moon so brilliant that it might vie with his that +lent it, everything the novice knight did was plainly seen by all. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile one of the carriers who were in the inn thought fit to water his +team, and it was necessary to remove Don Quixote’s armour as it lay on the +trough; but he seeing the other approach hailed him in a loud voice, “O +thou, whoever thou art, rash knight that comest to lay hands on the armour +of the most valorous errant that ever girt on sword, have a care what thou +dost; touch it not unless thou wouldst lay down thy life as the penalty of +thy rashness.” The carrier gave no heed to these words (and he would have +done better to heed them if he had been heedful of his health), but +seizing it by the straps flung the armour some distance from him. Seeing +this, Don Quixote raised his eyes to heaven, and fixing his thoughts, +apparently, upon his lady Dulcinea, exclaimed, “Aid me, lady mine, in this +the first encounter that presents itself to this breast which thou holdest +in subjection; let not thy favour and protection fail me in this first +jeopardy;” and, with these words and others to the same purpose, dropping +his buckler he lifted his lance with both hands and with it smote such a +blow on the carrier’s head that he stretched him on the ground, so stunned +that had he followed it up with a second there would have been no need of +a surgeon to cure him. This done, he picked up his armour and returned to +his beat with the same serenity as before. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="p010" id="p010"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p010.jpg (261K)" src="images/p010.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p010.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Shortly after this, another, not knowing what had happened (for the +carrier still lay senseless), came with the same object of giving water to +his mules, and was proceeding to remove the armour in order to clear the +trough, when Don Quixote, without uttering a word or imploring aid from +anyone, once more dropped his buckler and once more lifted his lance, and +without actually breaking the second carrier’s head into pieces, made more +than three of it, for he laid it open in four. At the noise all the people +of the inn ran to the spot, and among them the landlord. Seeing this, Don +Quixote braced his buckler on his arm, and with his hand on his sword +exclaimed, “O Lady of Beauty, strength and support of my faint heart, it +is time for thee to turn the eyes of thy greatness on this thy captive +knight on the brink of so mighty an adventure.” By this he felt himself so +inspired that he would not have flinched if all the carriers in the world +had assailed him. The comrades of the wounded perceiving the plight they +were in began from a distance to shower stones on Don Quixote, who +screened himself as best he could with his buckler, not daring to quit the +trough and leave his armour unprotected. The landlord shouted to them to +leave him alone, for he had already told them that he was mad, and as a +madman he would not be accountable even if he killed them all. Still +louder shouted Don Quixote, calling them knaves and traitors, and the lord +of the castle, who allowed knights-errant to be treated in this fashion, a +villain and a low-born knight whom, had he received the order of +knighthood, he would call to account for his treachery. “But of you,” he +cried, “base and vile rabble, I make no account; fling, strike, come on, +do all ye can against me, ye shall see what the reward of your folly and +insolence will be.” This he uttered with so much spirit and boldness that +he filled his assailants with a terrible fear, and as much for this reason +as at the persuasion of the landlord they left off stoning him, and he +allowed them to carry off the wounded, and with the same calmness and +composure as before resumed the watch over his armour. +</p> +<p> +But these freaks of his guest were not much to the liking of the landlord, +so he determined to cut matters short and confer upon him at once the +unlucky order of knighthood before any further misadventure could occur; +so, going up to him, he apologised for the rudeness which, without his +knowledge, had been offered to him by these low people, who, however, had +been well punished for their audacity. As he had already told him, he +said, there was no chapel in the castle, nor was it needed for what +remained to be done, for, as he understood the ceremonial of the order, +the whole point of being dubbed a knight lay in the accolade and in the +slap on the shoulder, and that could be administered in the middle of a +field; and that he had now done all that was needful as to watching the +armour, for all requirements were satisfied by a watch of two hours only, +while he had been more than four about it. Don Quixote believed it all, +and told him he stood there ready to obey him, and to make an end of it +with as much despatch as possible; for, if he were again attacked, and +felt himself to be dubbed knight, he would not, he thought, leave a soul +alive in the castle, except such as out of respect he might spare at his +bidding. +</p> +<p> +Thus warned and menaced, the castellan forthwith brought out a book in +which he used to enter the straw and barley he served out to the carriers, +and, with a lad carrying a candle-end, and the two damsels already +mentioned, he returned to where Don Quixote stood, and bade him kneel +down. Then, reading from his account-book as if he were repeating some +devout prayer, in the middle of his delivery he raised his hand and gave +him a sturdy blow on the neck, and then, with his own sword, a smart slap +on the shoulder, all the while muttering between his teeth as if he was +saying his prayers. Having done this, he directed one of the ladies to +gird on his sword, which she did with great self-possession and gravity, +and not a little was required to prevent a burst of laughter at each stage +of the ceremony; but what they had already seen of the novice knight’s +prowess kept their laughter within bounds. On girding him with the sword +the worthy lady said to him, “May God make your worship a very fortunate +knight, and grant you success in battle.” Don Quixote asked her name in +order that he might from that time forward know to whom he was beholden +for the favour he had received, as he meant to confer upon her some +portion of the honour he acquired by the might of his arm. She answered +with great humility that she was called La Tolosa, and that she was the +daughter of a cobbler of Toledo who lived in the stalls of Sanchobienaya, +and that wherever she might be she would serve and esteem him as her lord. +Don Quixote said in reply that she would do him a favour if thenceforward +she assumed the “Don” and called herself Dona Tolosa. She promised she +would, and then the other buckled on his spur, and with her followed +almost the same conversation as with the lady of the sword. He asked her +name, and she said it was La Molinera, and that she was the daughter of a +respectable miller of Antequera; and of her likewise Don Quixote requested +that she would adopt the “Don” and call herself Dona Molinera, making +offers to her further services and favours. +</p> +<p> +Having thus, with hot haste and speed, brought to a conclusion these +never-till-now-seen ceremonies, Don Quixote was on thorns until he saw +himself on horseback sallying forth in quest of adventures; and saddling +Rocinante at once he mounted, and embracing his host, as he returned +thanks for his kindness in knighting him, he addressed him in language so +extraordinary that it is impossible to convey an idea of it or report it. +The landlord, to get him out of the inn, replied with no less rhetoric +though with shorter words, and without calling upon him to pay the +reckoning let him go with a Godspeed. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="p017" id="p017"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p017.jpg (54K)" src="images/p017.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p017.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch4" id="ch4"></a>CHAPTER IV. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR KNIGHT WHEN HE LEFT THE INN +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="p018" id="p018"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p018.jpg (94K)" src="images/p018.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p018.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Day was dawning when Don Quixote quitted the inn, so happy, so gay, so +exhilarated at finding himself now dubbed a knight, that his joy was like +to burst his horse-girths. However, recalling the advice of his host as to +the requisites he ought to carry with him, especially that referring to +money and shirts, he determined to go home and provide himself with all, +and also with a squire, for he reckoned upon securing a farm-labourer, a +neighbour of his, a poor man with a family, but very well qualified for +the office of squire to a knight. With this object he turned his horse’s +head towards his village, and Rocinante, thus reminded of his old +quarters, stepped out so briskly that he hardly seemed to tread the earth. +</p> +<p> +He had not gone far, when out of a thicket on his right there seemed to +come feeble cries as of some one in distress, and the instant he heard +them he exclaimed, “Thanks be to heaven for the favour it accords me, that +it so soon offers me an opportunity of fulfilling the obligation I have +undertaken, and gathering the fruit of my ambition. These cries, no doubt, +come from some man or woman in want of help, and needing my aid and +protection;” and wheeling, he turned Rocinante in the direction whence the +cries seemed to proceed. He had gone but a few paces into the wood, when +he saw a mare tied to an oak, and tied to another, and stripped from the +waist upwards, a youth of about fifteen years of age, from whom the cries +came. Nor were they without cause, for a lusty farmer was flogging him +with a belt and following up every blow with scoldings and commands, +repeating, “Your mouth shut and your eyes open!” while the youth made +answer, “I won’t do it again, master mine; by God’s passion I won’t do it +again, and I’ll take more care of the flock another time.” +</p> +<p> +Seeing what was going on, Don Quixote said in an angry voice, +“Discourteous knight, it ill becomes you to assail one who cannot defend +himself; mount your steed and take your lance” (for there was a lance +leaning against the oak to which the mare was tied), “and I will make you +know that you are behaving as a coward.” The farmer, seeing before him +this figure in full armour brandishing a lance over his head, gave himself +up for dead, and made answer meekly, “Sir Knight, this youth that I am +chastising is my servant, employed by me to watch a flock of sheep that I +have hard by, and he is so careless that I lose one every day, and when I +punish him for his carelessness and knavery he says I do it out of +niggardliness, to escape paying him the wages I owe him, and before God, +and on my soul, he lies.” +</p> +<p> +“Lies before me, base clown!” said Don Quixote. “By the sun that shines on +us I have a mind to run you through with this lance. Pay him at once +without another word; if not, by the God that rules us I will make an end +of you, and annihilate you on the spot; release him instantly.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="p019" id="p019"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p019.jpg (339K)" src="images/p019.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p019.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +The farmer hung his head, and without a word untied his servant, of whom +Don Quixote asked how much his master owed him. +</p> +<p> +He replied, nine months at seven reals a month. Don Quixote added it up, +found that it came to sixty-three reals, and told the farmer to pay it +down immediately, if he did not want to die for it. +</p> +<p> +The trembling clown replied that as he lived and by the oath he had sworn +(though he had not sworn any) it was not so much; for there were to be +taken into account and deducted three pairs of shoes he had given him, and +a real for two blood-lettings when he was sick. +</p> +<p> +“All that is very well,” said Don Quixote; “but let the shoes and the +blood-lettings stand as a setoff against the blows you have given him +without any cause; for if he spoiled the leather of the shoes you paid +for, you have damaged that of his body, and if the barber took blood from +him when he was sick, you have drawn it when he was sound; so on that +score he owes you nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“The difficulty is, Sir Knight, that I have no money here; let Andres come +home with me, and I will pay him all, real by real.” +</p> +<p> +“I go with him!” said the youth. “Nay, God forbid! No, señor, not for the +world; for once alone with me, he would flay me like a Saint Bartholomew.” +</p> +<p> +“He will do nothing of the kind,” said Don Quixote; “I have only to +command, and he will obey me; and as he has sworn to me by the order of +knighthood which he has received, I leave him free, and I guarantee the +payment.” +</p> +<p> +“Consider what you are saying, señor,” said the youth; “this master of +mine is not a knight, nor has he received any order of knighthood; for he +is Juan Haldudo the Rich, of Quintanar.” +</p> +<p> +“That matters little,” replied Don Quixote; “there may be Haldudos +knights; moreover, everyone is the son of his works.” +</p> +<p> +“That is true,” said Andres; “but this master of mine—of what works +is he the son, when he refuses me the wages of my sweat and labour?” +</p> +<p> +“I do not refuse, brother Andres,” said the farmer, “be good enough to +come along with me, and I swear by all the orders of knighthood there are +in the world to pay you as I have agreed, real by real, and perfumed.” +</p> +<p> +“For the perfumery I excuse you,” said Don Quixote; “give it to him in +reals, and I shall be satisfied; and see that you do as you have sworn; if +not, by the same oath I swear to come back and hunt you out and punish +you; and I shall find you though you should lie closer than a lizard. And +if you desire to know who it is lays this command upon you, that you be +more firmly bound to obey it, know that I am the valorous Don Quixote of +La Mancha, the undoer of wrongs and injustices; and so, God be with you, +and keep in mind what you have promised and sworn under those penalties +that have been already declared to you.” +</p> +<p> +So saying, he gave Rocinante the spur and was soon out of reach. The +farmer followed him with his eyes, and when he saw that he had cleared the +wood and was no longer in sight, he turned to his boy Andres, and said, +“Come here, my son, I want to pay you what I owe you, as that undoer of +wrongs has commanded me.” +</p> +<p> +“My oath on it,” said Andres, “your worship will be well advised to obey +the command of that good knight—may he live a thousand years—for, +as he is a valiant and just judge, by Roque, if you do not pay me, he will +come back and do as he said.” +</p> +<p> +“My oath on it, too,” said the farmer; “but as I have a strong affection +for you, I want to add to the debt in order to add to the payment;” and +seizing him by the arm, he tied him up again, and gave him such a flogging +that he left him for dead. +</p> +<p> +“Now, Master Andres,” said the farmer, “call on the undoer of wrongs; you +will find he won’t undo that, though I am not sure that I have quite done +with you, for I have a good mind to flay you alive.” But at last he untied +him, and gave him leave to go look for his judge in order to put the +sentence pronounced into execution. +</p> +<p> +Andres went off rather down in the mouth, swearing he would go to look for +the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha and tell him exactly what had +happened, and that all would have to be repaid him sevenfold; but for all +that, he went off weeping, while his master stood laughing. +</p> +<p> +Thus did the valiant Don Quixote right that wrong, and, thoroughly +satisfied with what had taken place, as he considered he had made a very +happy and noble beginning with his knighthood, he took the road towards +his village in perfect self-content, saying in a low voice, “Well mayest +thou this day call thyself fortunate above all on earth, O Dulcinea del +Toboso, fairest of the fair! since it has fallen to thy lot to hold +subject and submissive to thy full will and pleasure a knight so renowned +as is and will be Don Quixote of La Mancha, who, as all the world knows, +yesterday received the order of knighthood, and hath to-day righted the +greatest wrong and grievance that ever injustice conceived and cruelty +perpetrated: who hath to-day plucked the rod from the hand of yonder +ruthless oppressor so wantonly lashing that tender child.” +</p> +<p> +He now came to a road branching in four directions, and immediately he was +reminded of those cross-roads where knights-errant used to stop to +consider which road they should take. In imitation of them he halted for a +while, and after having deeply considered it, he gave Rocinante his head, +submitting his own will to that of his hack, who followed out his first +intention, which was to make straight for his own stable. After he had +gone about two miles Don Quixote perceived a large party of people, who, +as afterwards appeared, were some Toledo traders, on their way to buy silk +at Murcia. There were six of them coming along under their sunshades, with +four servants mounted, and three muleteers on foot. Scarcely had Don +Quixote descried them when the fancy possessed him that this must be some +new adventure; and to help him to imitate as far as he could those +passages he had read of in his books, here seemed to come one made on +purpose, which he resolved to attempt. So with a lofty bearing and +determination he fixed himself firmly in his stirrups, got his lance +ready, brought his buckler before his breast, and planting himself in the +middle of the road, stood waiting the approach of these knights-errant, +for such he now considered and held them to be; and when they had come +near enough to see and hear, he exclaimed with a haughty gesture, “All the +world stand, unless all the world confess that in all the world there is +no maiden fairer than the Empress of La Mancha, the peerless Dulcinea del +Toboso.” +</p> +<p> +The traders halted at the sound of this language and the sight of the +strange figure that uttered it, and from both figure and language at once +guessed the craze of their owner; they wished, however, to learn quietly +what was the object of this confession that was demanded of them, and one +of them, who was rather fond of a joke and was very sharp-witted, said to +him, “Sir Knight, we do not know who this good lady is that you speak of; +show her to us, for, if she be of such beauty as you suggest, with all our +hearts and without any pressure we will confess the truth that is on your +part required of us.” +</p> +<p> +“If I were to show her to you,” replied Don Quixote, “what merit would you +have in confessing a truth so manifest? The essential point is that +without seeing her you must believe, confess, affirm, swear, and defend +it; else ye have to do with me in battle, ill-conditioned, arrogant rabble +that ye are; and come ye on, one by one as the order of knighthood +requires, or all together as is the custom and vile usage of your breed, +here do I bide and await you relying on the justice of the cause I +maintain.” +</p> +<p> +“Sir Knight,” replied the trader, “I entreat your worship in the name of +this present company of princes, that, to save us from charging our +consciences with the confession of a thing we have never seen or heard of, +and one moreover so much to the prejudice of the Empresses and Queens of +the Alcarria and Estremadura, your worship will be pleased to show us some +portrait of this lady, though it be no bigger than a grain of wheat; for +by the thread one gets at the ball, and in this way we shall be satisfied +and easy, and you will be content and pleased; nay, I believe we are +already so far agreed with you that even though her portrait should show +her blind of one eye, and distilling vermilion and sulphur from the other, +we would nevertheless, to gratify your worship, say all in her favour that +you desire.” +</p> +<p> +“She distils nothing of the kind, vile rabble,” said Don Quixote, burning +with rage, “nothing of the kind, I say, only ambergris and civet in +cotton; nor is she one-eyed or humpbacked, but straighter than a +Guadarrama spindle: but ye must pay for the blasphemy ye have uttered +against beauty like that of my lady.” +</p> +<p> +And so saying, he charged with levelled lance against the one who had +spoken, with such fury and fierceness that, if luck had not contrived that +Rocinante should stumble midway and come down, it would have gone hard +with the rash trader. Down went Rocinante, and over went his master, +rolling along the ground for some distance; and when he tried to rise he +was unable, so encumbered was he with lance, buckler, spurs, helmet, and +the weight of his old armour; and all the while he was struggling to get +up he kept saying, “Fly not, cowards and caitiffs! stay, for not by my +fault, but my horse’s, am I stretched here.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="p020" id="p020"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p020.jpg (352K)" src="images/p020.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p020.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +One of the muleteers in attendance, who could not have had much good nature in +him, hearing the poor prostrate man blustering in this style, was unable to +refrain from giving him an answer on his ribs; and coming up to him he seized +his lance, and having broken it in pieces, with one of them he began so to +belabour our Don Quixote that, notwithstanding and in spite of his armour, he +milled him like a measure of wheat. His masters called out not to lay on so +hard and to leave him alone, but the muleteer’s blood was up, and he did +not care to drop the game until he had vented the rest of his wrath, and +gathering up the remaining fragments of the lance he finished with a discharge +upon the unhappy victim, who all through the storm of sticks that rained on him +never ceased threatening heaven, and earth, and the brigands, for such they +seemed to him. At last the muleteer was tired, and the traders continued their +journey, taking with them matter for talk about the poor fellow who had been +cudgelled. He when he found himself alone made another effort to rise; but if +he was unable when whole and sound, how was he to rise after having been +thrashed and well-nigh knocked to pieces? And yet he esteemed himself +fortunate, as it seemed to him that this was a regular knight-errant’s +mishap, and entirely, he considered, the fault of his horse. However, battered +in body as he was, to rise was beyond his power. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="e04" id="e04"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="e04.jpg (28K)" src="images/e04.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch5" id="ch5"></a>CHAPTER V. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE OF OUR KNIGHT’S MISHAP IS CONTINUED +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="p022" id="p022"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p022.jpg (123K)" src="images/p022.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p022.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Finding, then, that, in fact he could not move, he thought himself of +having recourse to his usual remedy, which was to think of some passage in +his books, and his craze brought to his mind that about Baldwin and the +Marquis of Mantua, when Carloto left him wounded on the mountain side, a +story known by heart by the children, not forgotten by the young men, and +lauded and even believed by the old folk; and for all that not a whit +truer than the miracles of Mahomet. This seemed to him to fit exactly the +case in which he found himself, so, making a show of severe suffering, he +began to roll on the ground and with feeble breath repeat the very words +which the wounded knight of the wood is said to have uttered: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where art thou, lady mine, that thou +My sorrow dost not rue? +Thou canst not know it, lady mine, +Or else thou art untrue. +</pre> +<p> +And so he went on with the ballad as far as the lines: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O noble Marquis of Mantua, +My Uncle and liege lord! +</pre> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="p026" id="p026"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p026.jpg (316K)" src="images/p026.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p026.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +As chance would have it, when he had got to this line there happened to +come by a peasant from his own village, a neighbour of his, who had been +with a load of wheat to the mill, and he, seeing the man stretched there, +came up to him and asked him who he was and what was the matter with him +that he complained so dolefully. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote was firmly persuaded that this was the Marquis of Mantua, his +uncle, so the only answer he made was to go on with his ballad, in which +he told the tale of his misfortune, and of the loves of the Emperor’s son +and his wife all exactly as the ballad sings it. +</p> +<p> +The peasant stood amazed at hearing such nonsense, and relieving him of +the visor, already battered to pieces by blows, he wiped his face, which +was covered with dust, and as soon as he had done so he recognised him and +said, “Señor Quixada” (for so he appears to have been called when he was +in his senses and had not yet changed from a quiet country gentleman into +a knight-errant), “who has brought your worship to this pass?” But to all +questions the other only went on with his ballad. +</p> +<p> +Seeing this, the good man removed as well as he could his breastplate and +backpiece to see if he had any wound, but he could perceive no blood nor +any mark whatever. He then contrived to raise him from the ground, and +with no little difficulty hoisted him upon his ass, which seemed to him to +be the easiest mount for him; and collecting the arms, even to the +splinters of the lance, he tied them on Rocinante, and leading him by the +bridle and the ass by the halter he took the road for the village, very +sad to hear what absurd stuff Don Quixote was talking. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="p029" id="p029"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p029.jpg (285K)" src="images/p029.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/p029.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Nor was Don Quixote less so, for what with blows and bruises he could not +sit upright on the ass, and from time to time he sent up sighs to heaven, +so that once more he drove the peasant to ask what ailed him. And it could +have been only the devil himself that put into his head tales to match his +own adventures, for now, forgetting Baldwin, he bethought himself of the +Moor Abindarraez, when the Alcaide of Antequera, Rodrigo de Narvaez, took +him prisoner and carried him away to his castle; so that when the peasant +again asked him how he was and what ailed him, he gave him for reply the +same words and phrases that the captive Abindarraez gave to Rodrigo de +Narvaez, just as he had read the story in the “Diana” of Jorge de +Montemayor where it is written, applying it to his own case so aptly that +the peasant went along cursing his fate that he had to listen to such a +lot of nonsense; from which, however, he came to the conclusion that his +neighbour was mad, and so made all haste to reach the village to escape +the wearisomeness of this harangue of Don Quixote’s; who, at the end of +it, said, “Señor Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, your worship must know that this +fair Xarifa I have mentioned is now the lovely Dulcinea del Toboso, for +whom I have done, am doing, and will do the most famous deeds of chivalry +that in this world have been seen, are to be seen, or ever shall be seen.” +</p> +<p> +To this the peasant answered, “Señor—sinner that I am!—cannot +your worship see that I am not Don Rodrigo de Narvaez nor the Marquis of +Mantua, but Pedro Alonso your neighbour, and that your worship is neither +Baldwin nor Abindarraez, but the worthy gentleman Señor Quixada?” +</p> +<p> +“I know who I am,” replied Don Quixote, “and I know that I may be not only +those I have named, but all the Twelve Peers of France and even all the +Nine Worthies, since my achievements surpass all that they have done all +together and each of them on his own account.” +</p> +<p> +With this talk and more of the same kind they reached the village just as +night was beginning to fall, but the peasant waited until it was a little +later that the belaboured gentleman might not be seen riding in such a +miserable trim. When it was what seemed to him the proper time he entered +the village and went to Don Quixote’s house, which he found all in +confusion, and there were the curate and the village barber, who were +great friends of Don Quixote, and his housekeeper was saying to them in a +loud voice, “What does your worship think can have befallen my master, +Señor Licentiate Pero Perez?” for so the curate was called; “it is three +days now since anything has been seen of him, or the hack, or the buckler, +lance, or armour. Miserable me! I am certain of it, and it is as true as +that I was born to die, that these accursed books of chivalry he has, and +has got into the way of reading so constantly, have upset his reason; for +now I remember having often heard him saying to himself that he would turn +knight-errant and go all over the world in quest of adventures. To the +devil and Barabbas with such books, that have brought to ruin in this way +the finest understanding there was in all La Mancha!” +</p> +<p> +The niece said the same, and, more: “You must know, Master Nicholas”—for +that was the name of the barber—“it was often my uncle’s way to stay +two days and nights together poring over these unholy books of +misventures, after which he would fling the book away and snatch up his +sword and fall to slashing the walls; and when he was tired out he would +say he had killed four giants like four towers; and the sweat that flowed +from him when he was weary he said was the blood of the wounds he had +received in battle; and then he would drink a great jug of cold water and +become calm and quiet, saying that this water was a most precious potion +which the sage Esquife, a great magician and friend of his, had brought +him. But I take all the blame upon myself for never having told your +worships of my uncle’s vagaries, that you might put a stop to them before +things had come to this pass, and burn all these accursed books—for +he has a great number—that richly deserve to be burned like +heretics.” +</p> +<p> +“So say I too,” said the curate, “and by my faith to-morrow shall not pass +without public judgment upon them, and may they be condemned to the flames +lest they lead those that read to behave as my good friend seems to have +behaved.” +</p> +<p> +All this the peasant heard, and from it he understood at last what was the +matter with his neighbour, so he began calling aloud, “Open, your +worships, to Señor Baldwin and to Señor the Marquis of Mantua, who comes +badly wounded, and to Señor Abindarraez, the Moor, whom the valiant +Rodrigo de Narvaez, the Alcaide of Antequera, brings captive.” +</p> +<p> +At these words they all hurried out, and when they recognised their +friend, master, and uncle, who had not yet dismounted from the ass because +he could not, they ran to embrace him. +</p> +<p> +“Hold!” said he, “for I am badly wounded through my horse’s fault; carry +me to bed, and if possible send for the wise Urganda to cure and see to my +wounds.” +</p> +<p> +“See there! plague on it!” cried the housekeeper at this: “did not my +heart tell the truth as to which foot my master went lame of? To bed with +your worship at once, and we will contrive to cure you here without +fetching that Hurgada. A curse I say once more, and a hundred times more, +on those books of chivalry that have brought your worship to such a pass.” +</p> +<p> +They carried him to bed at once, and after searching for his wounds could +find none, but he said they were all bruises from having had a severe fall +with his horse Rocinante when in combat with ten giants, the biggest and +the boldest to be found on earth. +</p> +<p> +“So, so!” said the curate, “are there giants in the dance? By the sign of +the Cross I will burn them to-morrow before the day is over.” +</p> +<p> +They put a host of questions to Don Quixote, but his only answer to all +was—give him something to eat, and leave him to sleep, for that was +what he needed most. They did so, and the curate questioned the peasant at +great length as to how he had found Don Quixote. He told him, and the +nonsense he had talked when found and on the way home, all which made the +licentiate the more eager to do what he did the next day, which was to +summon his friend the barber, Master Nicholas, and go with him to Don +Quixote’s house. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="p031" id="p031"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="p031.jpg (31K)" src="images/p031.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch6" id="ch6"></a>CHAPTER VI. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE DIVERTING AND IMPORTANT SCRUTINY WHICH THE CURATE AND THE BARBER +MADE IN THE LIBRARY OF OUR INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c06a" id="c06a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c06a.jpg (92K)" src="images/c06a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c06a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +He was still sleeping; so the curate asked the niece for the keys of the +room where the books, the authors of all the mischief, were, and right +willingly she gave them. They all went in, the housekeeper with them, and +found more than a hundred volumes of big books very well bound, and some +other small ones. The moment the housekeeper saw them she turned about and +ran out of the room, and came back immediately with a saucer of holy water +and a sprinkler, saying, “Here, your worship, señor licentiate, sprinkle +this room; don’t leave any magician of the many there are in these books +to bewitch us in revenge for our design of banishing them from the world.” +</p> +<p> +The simplicity of the housekeeper made the licentiate laugh, and he +directed the barber to give him the books one by one to see what they were +about, as there might be some to be found among them that did not deserve +the penalty of fire. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said the niece, “there is no reason for showing mercy to any of +them; they have every one of them done mischief; better fling them out of +the window into the court and make a pile of them and set fire to them; or +else carry them into the yard, and there a bonfire can be made without the +smoke giving any annoyance.” The housekeeper said the same, so eager were +they both for the slaughter of those innocents, but the curate would not +agree to it without first reading at any rate the titles. +</p> +<p> +The first that Master Nicholas put into his hand was “The four books of +Amadis of Gaul.” “This seems a mysterious thing,” said the curate, “for, +as I have heard say, this was the first book of chivalry printed in Spain, +and from this all the others derive their birth and origin; so it seems to +me that we ought inexorably to condemn it to the flames as the founder of +so vile a sect.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, sir,” said the barber, “I too, have heard say that this is the best +of all the books of this kind that have been written, and so, as something +singular in its line, it ought to be pardoned.” +</p> +<p> +“True,” said the curate; “and for that reason let its life be spared for +the present. Let us see that other which is next to it.” +</p> +<p> +“It is,” said the barber, “the ‘Sergas de Esplandian,’ the lawful son of +Amadis of Gaul.” +</p> +<p> +“Then verily,” said the curate, “the merit of the father must not be put +down to the account of the son. Take it, mistress housekeeper; open the +window and fling it into the yard and lay the foundation of the pile for +the bonfire we are to make.” +</p> +<p> +The housekeeper obeyed with great satisfaction, and the worthy +“Esplandian” went flying into the yard to await with all patience the fire +that was in store for him. +</p> +<p> +“Proceed,” said the curate. +</p> +<p> +“This that comes next,” said the barber, “is ‘Amadis of Greece,’ and, +indeed, I believe all those on this side are of the same Amadis lineage.” +</p> +<p> +“Then to the yard with the whole of them,” said the curate; “for to have +the burning of Queen Pintiquiniestra, and the shepherd Darinel and his +eclogues, and the bedevilled and involved discourses of his author, I +would burn with them the father who begot me if he were going about in the +guise of a knight-errant.” +</p> +<p> +“I am of the same mind,” said the barber. +</p> +<p> +“And so am I,” added the niece. +</p> +<p> +“In that case,” said the housekeeper, “here, into the yard with them!” +</p> +<p> +They were handed to her, and as there were many of them, she spared +herself the staircase, and flung them down out of the window. +</p> +<p> +“Who is that tub there?” said the curate. +</p> +<p> +“This,” said the barber, “is ‘Don Olivante de Laura.’” +</p> +<p> +“The author of that book,” said the curate, “was the same that wrote ‘The +Garden of Flowers,’ and truly there is no deciding which of the two books +is the more truthful, or, to put it better, the less lying; all I can say +is, send this one into the yard for a swaggering fool.” +</p> +<p> +“This that follows is ‘Florismarte of Hircania,’” said the barber. +</p> +<p> +“Señor Florismarte here?” said the curate; “then by my faith he must take +up his quarters in the yard, in spite of his marvellous birth and +visionary adventures, for the stiffness and dryness of his style deserve +nothing else; into the yard with him and the other, mistress housekeeper.” +</p> +<p> +“With all my heart, señor,” said she, and executed the order with great +delight. +</p> +<p> +“This,” said the barber, “is The Knight Platir.’” +</p> +<p> +“An old book that,” said the curate, “but I find no reason for clemency in +it; send it after the others without appeal;” which was done. +</p> +<p> +Another book was opened, and they saw it was entitled, “The Knight of the +Cross.” +</p> +<p> +“For the sake of the holy name this book has,” said the curate, “its +ignorance might be excused; but then, they say, ‘behind the cross there’s +the devil; to the fire with it.” +</p> +<p> +Taking down another book, the barber said, “This is ‘The Mirror of +Chivalry.’” +</p> +<p> +“I know his worship,” said the curate; “that is where Señor Reinaldos of +Montalvan figures with his friends and comrades, greater thieves than +Cacus, and the Twelve Peers of France with the veracious historian Turpin; +however, I am not for condemning them to more than perpetual banishment, +because, at any rate, they have some share in the invention of the famous +Matteo Boiardo, whence too the Christian poet Ludovico Ariosto wove his +web, to whom, if I find him here, and speaking any language but his own, I +shall show no respect whatever; but if he speaks his own tongue I will put +him upon my head.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I have him in Italian,” said the barber, “but I do not understand +him.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor would it be well that you should understand him,” said the curate, +“and on that score we might have excused the Captain if he had not brought +him into Spain and turned him into Castilian. He robbed him of a great +deal of his natural force, and so do all those who try to turn books +written in verse into another language, for, with all the pains they take +and all the cleverness they show, they never can reach the level of the +originals as they were first produced. In short, I say that this book, and +all that may be found treating of those French affairs, should be thrown +into or deposited in some dry well, until after more consideration it is +settled what is to be done with them; excepting always one ‘Bernardo del +Carpio’ that is going about, and another called ‘Roncesvalles;’ for these, +if they come into my hands, shall pass at once into those of the +housekeeper, and from hers into the fire without any reprieve.” +</p> +<p> +To all this the barber gave his assent, and looked upon it as right and +proper, being persuaded that the curate was so staunch to the Faith and +loyal to the Truth that he would not for the world say anything opposed to +them. Opening another book he saw it was “Palmerin de Oliva,” and beside +it was another called “Palmerin of England,” seeing which the licentiate +said, “Let the Olive be made firewood of at once and burned until no ashes +even are left; and let that Palm of England be kept and preserved as a +thing that stands alone, and let such another case be made for it as that +which Alexander found among the spoils of Darius and set aside for the +safe keeping of the works of the poet Homer. This book, gossip, is of +authority for two reasons, first because it is very good, and secondly +because it is said to have been written by a wise and witty king of +Portugal. All the adventures at the Castle of Miraguarda are excellent and +of admirable contrivance, and the language is polished and clear, studying +and observing the style befitting the speaker with propriety and judgment. +So then, provided it seems good to you, Master Nicholas, I say let this +and ‘Amadis of Gaul’ be remitted the penalty of fire, and as for all the +rest, let them perish without further question or query.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, gossip,” said the barber, “for this that I have here is the famous +‘Don Belianis.’” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said the curate, “that and the second, third, and fourth parts all +stand in need of a little rhubarb to purge their excess of bile, and they +must be cleared of all that stuff about the Castle of Fame and other +greater affectations, to which end let them be allowed the over-seas term, +and, according as they mend, so shall mercy or justice be meted out to +them; and in the mean time, gossip, do you keep them in your house and let +no one read them.” +</p> +<p> +“With all my heart,” said the barber; and not caring to tire himself with +reading more books of chivalry, he told the housekeeper to take all the +big ones and throw them into the yard. It was not said to one dull or +deaf, but to one who enjoyed burning them more than weaving the broadest +and finest web that could be; and seizing about eight at a time, she flung +them out of the window. +</p> +<p> +In carrying so many together she let one fall at the feet of the barber, +who took it up, curious to know whose it was, and found it said, “History +of the Famous Knight, Tirante el Blanco.” +</p> +<p> +“God bless me!” said the curate with a shout, “‘Tirante el Blanco’ here! +Hand it over, gossip, for in it I reckon I have found a treasury of +enjoyment and a mine of recreation. Here is Don Kyrieleison of Montalvan, +a valiant knight, and his brother Thomas of Montalvan, and the knight +Fonseca, with the battle the bold Tirante fought with the mastiff, and the +witticisms of the damsel Placerdemivida, and the loves and wiles of the +widow Reposada, and the empress in love with the squire Hipolito—in +truth, gossip, by right of its style it is the best book in the world. +Here knights eat and sleep, and die in their beds, and make their wills +before dying, and a great deal more of which there is nothing in all the +other books. Nevertheless, I say he who wrote it, for deliberately +composing such fooleries, deserves to be sent to the galleys for life. +Take it home with you and read it, and you will see that what I have said +is true.” +</p> +<p> +“As you will,” said the barber; “but what are we to do with these little +books that are left?” +</p> +<p> +“These must be, not chivalry, but poetry,” said the curate; and opening +one he saw it was the “Diana” of Jorge de Montemayor, and, supposing all +the others to be of the same sort, “these,” he said, “do not deserve to be +burned like the others, for they neither do nor can do the mischief the +books of chivalry have done, being books of entertainment that can hurt no +one.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, señor!” said the niece, “your worship had better order these to be +burned as well as the others; for it would be no wonder if, after being +cured of his chivalry disorder, my uncle, by reading these, took a fancy +to turn shepherd and range the woods and fields singing and piping; or, +what would be still worse, to turn poet, which they say is an incurable +and infectious malady.” +</p> +<p> +“The damsel is right,” said the curate, “and it will be well to put this +stumbling-block and temptation out of our friend’s way. To begin, then, +with the ‘Diana’ of Montemayor. I am of opinion it should not be burned, +but that it should be cleared of all that about the sage Felicia and the +magic water, and of almost all the longer pieces of verse: let it keep, +and welcome, its prose and the honour of being the first of books of the +kind.” +</p> +<p> +“This that comes next,” said the barber, “is the ‘Diana,’ entitled the +‘Second Part, by the Salamancan,’ and this other has the same title, and +its author is Gil Polo.” +</p> +<p> +“As for that of the Salamancan,” replied the curate, “let it go to swell +the number of the condemned in the yard, and let Gil Polo’s be preserved +as if it came from Apollo himself: but get on, gossip, and make haste, for +it is growing late.” +</p> +<p> +“This book,” said the barber, opening another, “is the ten books of the +‘Fortune of Love,’ written by Antonio de Lofraso, a Sardinian poet.” +</p> +<p> +“By the orders I have received,” said the curate, “since Apollo has been +Apollo, and the Muses have been Muses, and poets have been poets, so droll +and absurd a book as this has never been written, and in its way it is the +best and the most singular of all of this species that have as yet +appeared, and he who has not read it may be sure he has never read what is +delightful. Give it here, gossip, for I make more account of having found +it than if they had given me a cassock of Florence stuff.” +</p> +<p> +He put it aside with extreme satisfaction, and the barber went on, “These +that come next are ‘The Shepherd of Iberia,’ ‘Nymphs of Henares,’ and ‘The +Enlightenment of Jealousy.’” +</p> +<p> +“Then all we have to do,” said the curate, “is to hand them over to the +secular arm of the housekeeper, and ask me not why, or we shall never have +done.” +</p> +<p> +“This next is the ‘Pastor de Filida.’” +</p> +<p> +“No Pastor that,” said the curate, “but a highly polished courtier; let it +be preserved as a precious jewel.” +</p> +<p> +“This large one here,” said the barber, “is called ‘The Treasury of +various Poems.’” +</p> +<p> +“If there were not so many of them,” said the curate, “they would be more +relished: this book must be weeded and cleansed of certain vulgarities +which it has with its excellences; let it be preserved because the author +is a friend of mine, and out of respect for other more heroic and loftier +works that he has written.” +</p> +<p> +“This,” continued the barber, “is the ‘Cancionero’ of Lopez de Maldonado.” +</p> +<p> +“The author of that book, too,” said the curate, “is a great friend of +mine, and his verses from his own mouth are the admiration of all who hear +them, for such is the sweetness of his voice that he enchants when he +chants them: it gives rather too much of its eclogues, but what is good +was never yet plentiful: let it be kept with those that have been set +apart. But what book is that next it?” +</p> +<p> +“The ‘Galatea’ of Miguel de Cervantes,” said the barber. +</p> +<p> +“That Cervantes has been for many years a great friend of mine, and to my +knowledge he has had more experience in reverses than in verses. His book +has some good invention in it, it presents us with something but brings +nothing to a conclusion: we must wait for the Second Part it promises: +perhaps with amendment it may succeed in winning the full measure of grace +that is now denied it; and in the mean time do you, señor gossip, keep it +shut up in your own quarters.” +</p> +<p> +“Very good,” said the barber; “and here come three together, the +‘Araucana’ of Don Alonso de Ercilla, the ‘Austriada’ of Juan Rufo, Justice +of Cordova, and the ‘Montserrate’ of Christobal de Virues, the Valencian +poet.” +</p> +<p> +“These three books,” said the curate, “are the best that have been written +in Castilian in heroic verse, and they may compare with the most famous of +Italy; let them be preserved as the richest treasures of poetry that Spain +possesses.” +</p> +<p> +The curate was tired and would not look into any more books, and so he +decided that, “contents uncertified,” all the rest should be burned; but +just then the barber held open one, called “The Tears of Angelica.” +</p> +<p> +“I should have shed tears myself,” said the curate when he heard the +title, “had I ordered that book to be burned, for its author was one of +the famous poets of the world, not to say of Spain, and was very happy in +the translation of some of Ovid’s fables.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c06e" id="c06e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c06e.jpg (30K)" src="images/c06e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch7" id="ch7"></a>CHAPTER VII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE SECOND SALLY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c07a" id="c07a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c07a.jpg (151K)" src="images/c07a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c07a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +At this instant Don Quixote began shouting out, “Here, here, valiant +knights! here is need for you to put forth the might of your strong arms, +for they of the Court are gaining the mastery in the tourney!” Called away +by this noise and outcry, they proceeded no farther with the scrutiny of +the remaining books, and so it is thought that “The Carolea,” “The Lion of +Spain,” and “The Deeds of the Emperor,” written by Don Luis de Avila, went +to the fire unseen and unheard; for no doubt they were among those that +remained, and perhaps if the curate had seen them they would not have +undergone so severe a sentence. +</p> +<p> +When they reached Don Quixote he was already out of bed, and was still +shouting and raving, and slashing and cutting all round, as wide awake as +if he had never slept. +</p> +<p> +They closed with him and by force got him back to bed, and when he had +become a little calm, addressing the curate, he said to him, “Of a truth, +Señor Archbishop Turpin, it is a great disgrace for us who call ourselves +the Twelve Peers, so carelessly to allow the knights of the Court to gain +the victory in this tourney, we the adventurers having carried off the +honour on the three former days.” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, gossip,” said the curate; “please God, the luck may turn, and what +is lost to-day may be won to-morrow; for the present let your worship have +a care of your health, for it seems to me that you are over-fatigued, if +not badly wounded.” +</p> +<p> +“Wounded no,” said Don Quixote, “but bruised and battered no doubt, for +that bastard Don Roland has cudgelled me with the trunk of an oak tree, +and all for envy, because he sees that I alone rival him in his +achievements. But I should not call myself Reinaldos of Montalvan did he +not pay me for it in spite of all his enchantments as soon as I rise from +this bed. For the present let them bring me something to eat, for that, I +feel, is what will be more to my purpose, and leave it to me to avenge +myself.” +</p> +<p> +They did as he wished; they gave him something to eat, and once more he +fell asleep, leaving them marvelling at his madness. +</p> +<p> +That night the housekeeper burned to ashes all the books that were in the +yard and in the whole house; and some must have been consumed that +deserved preservation in everlasting archives, but their fate and the +laziness of the examiner did not permit it, and so in them was verified +the proverb that the innocent suffer for the guilty. +</p> +<p> +One of the remedies which the curate and the barber immediately applied to +their friend’s disorder was to wall up and plaster the room where the +books were, so that when he got up he should not find them (possibly the +cause being removed the effect might cease), and they might say that a +magician had carried them off, room and all; and this was done with all +despatch. Two days later Don Quixote got up, and the first thing he did +was to go and look at his books, and not finding the room where he had +left it, he wandered from side to side looking for it. He came to the +place where the door used to be, and tried it with his hands, and turned +and twisted his eyes in every direction without saying a word; but after a +good while he asked his housekeeper whereabouts was the room that held his +books. +</p> +<p> +The housekeeper, who had been already well instructed in what she was to +answer, said, “What room or what nothing is it that your worship is +looking for? There are neither room nor books in this house now, for the +devil himself has carried all away.” +</p> +<p> +“It was not the devil,” said the niece, “but a magician who came on a +cloud one night after the day your worship left this, and dismounting from +a serpent that he rode he entered the room, and what he did there I know +not, but after a little while he made off, flying through the roof, and +left the house full of smoke; and when we went to see what he had done we +saw neither book nor room: but we remember very well, the housekeeper and +I, that on leaving, the old villain said in a loud voice that, for a +private grudge he owed the owner of the books and the room, he had done +mischief in that house that would be discovered by-and-by: he said too +that his name was the Sage Munaton.” +</p> +<p> +“He must have said Friston,” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know whether he called himself Friston or Friton,” said the +housekeeper, “I only know that his name ended with ‘ton.’” +</p> +<p> +“So it does,” said Don Quixote, “and he is a sage magician, a great enemy +of mine, who has a spite against me because he knows by his arts and lore +that in process of time I am to engage in single combat with a knight whom +he befriends and that I am to conquer, and he will be unable to prevent +it; and for this reason he endeavours to do me all the ill turns that he +can; but I promise him it will be hard for him to oppose or avoid what is +decreed by Heaven.” +</p> +<p> +“Who doubts that?” said the niece; “but, uncle, who mixes you up in these +quarrels? Would it not be better to remain at peace in your own house +instead of roaming the world looking for better bread than ever came of +wheat, never reflecting that many go for wool and come back shorn?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, niece of mine,” replied Don Quixote, “how much astray art thou in thy +reckoning: ere they shear me I shall have plucked away and stripped off +the beards of all who dare to touch only the tip of a hair of mine.” +</p> +<p> +The two were unwilling to make any further answer, as they saw that his +anger was kindling. +</p> +<p> +In short, then, he remained at home fifteen days very quietly without +showing any signs of a desire to take up with his former delusions, and +during this time he held lively discussions with his two gossips, the +curate and the barber, on the point he maintained, that knights-errant +were what the world stood most in need of, and that in him was to be +accomplished the revival of knight-errantry. The curate sometimes +contradicted him, sometimes agreed with him, for if he had not observed +this precaution he would have been unable to bring him to reason. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Don Quixote worked upon a farm labourer, a neighbour of his, an +honest man (if indeed that title can be given to him who is poor), but +with very little wit in his pate. In a word, he so talked him over, and +with such persuasions and promises, that the poor clown made up his mind +to sally forth with him and serve him as esquire. Don Quixote, among other +things, told him he ought to be ready to go with him gladly, because any +moment an adventure might occur that might win an island in the twinkling +of an eye and leave him governor of it. On these and the like promises +Sancho Panza (for so the labourer was called) left wife and children, and +engaged himself as esquire to his neighbour. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c07b" id="c07b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c07b.jpg (322K)" src="images/c07b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c07b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote next set about getting some money; and selling one thing and +pawning another, and making a bad bargain in every case, he got together a +fair sum. He provided himself with a buckler, which he begged as a loan +from a friend, and, restoring his battered helmet as best he could, he +warned his squire Sancho of the day and hour he meant to set out, that he +might provide himself with what he thought most needful. Above all, he +charged him to take alforjas with him. The other said he would, and that +he meant to take also a very good ass he had, as he was not much given to +going on foot. About the ass, Don Quixote hesitated a little, trying +whether he could call to mind any knight-errant taking with him an esquire +mounted on ass-back, but no instance occurred to his memory. For all that, +however, he determined to take him, intending to furnish him with a more +honourable mount when a chance of it presented itself, by appropriating +the horse of the first discourteous knight he encountered. Himself he +provided with shirts and such other things as he could, according to the +advice the host had given him; all which being done, without taking leave, +Sancho Panza of his wife and children, or Don Quixote of his housekeeper +and niece, they sallied forth unseen by anybody from the village one +night, and made such good way in the course of it that by daylight they +held themselves safe from discovery, even should search be made for them. +</p> +<p> +Sancho rode on his ass like a patriarch, with his alforjas and bota, and +longing to see himself soon governor of the island his master had promised +him. Don Quixote decided upon taking the same route and road he had taken +on his first journey, that over the Campo de Montiel, which he travelled +with less discomfort than on the last occasion, for, as it was early +morning and the rays of the sun fell on them obliquely, the heat did not +distress them. +</p> +<p> +And now said Sancho Panza to his master, “Your worship will take care, +Señor Knight-errant, not to forget about the island you have promised me, +for be it ever so big I’ll be equal to governing it.” +</p> +<p> +To which Don Quixote replied, “Thou must know, friend Sancho Panza, that +it was a practice very much in vogue with the knights-errant of old to +make their squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they won, and I am +determined that there shall be no failure on my part in so liberal a +custom; on the contrary, I mean to improve upon it, for they sometimes, +and perhaps most frequently, waited until their squires were old, and then +when they had had enough of service and hard days and worse nights, they +gave them some title or other, of count, or at the most marquis, of some +valley or province more or less; but if thou livest and I live, it may +well be that before six days are over, I may have won some kingdom that +has others dependent upon it, which will be just the thing to enable thee +to be crowned king of one of them. Nor needst thou count this wonderful, +for things and chances fall to the lot of such knights in ways so +unexampled and unexpected that I might easily give thee even more than I +promise thee.” +</p> +<p> +“In that case,” said Sancho Panza, “if I should become a king by one of +those miracles your worship speaks of, even Juana Gutierrez, my old woman, +would come to be queen and my children infantes.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, who doubts it?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“I doubt it,” replied Sancho Panza, “because for my part I am persuaded +that though God should shower down kingdoms upon earth, not one of them +would fit the head of Mari Gutierrez. Let me tell you, señor, she is not +worth two maravedis for a queen; countess will fit her better, and that +only with God’s help.” +</p> +<p> +“Leave it to God, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “for he will give her +what suits her best; but do not undervalue thyself so much as to come to +be content with anything less than being governor of a province.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not, señor,” answered Sancho, “specially as I have a man of such +quality for a master in your worship, who will know how to give me all +that will be suitable for me and that I can bear.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c07e" id="c07e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c07e.jpg (70K)" src="images/c07e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch8" id="ch8"></a>CHAPTER VIII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE GOOD FORTUNE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE TERRIBLE AND +UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE WINDMILLS, WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES WORTHY TO +BE FITLY RECORDED +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c08a" id="c08a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c08a.jpg (142K)" src="images/c08a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c08a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +At this point they came in sight of thirty or forty windmills that there are on +that plain, and as soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to his squire, +“Fortune is arranging matters for us better than we could have shaped our +desires ourselves, for look there, friend Sancho Panza, where thirty or more +monstrous giants present themselves, all of whom I mean to engage in battle and +slay, and with whose spoils we shall begin to make our fortunes; for this is +righteous warfare, and it is God’s good service to sweep so evil a breed +from off the face of the earth.” +</p> +<p> +“What giants?” said Sancho Panza. +</p> +<p> +“Those thou seest there,” answered his master, “with the long arms, and +some have them nearly two leagues long.” +</p> +<p> +“Look, your worship,” said Sancho; “what we see there are not giants but +windmills, and what seem to be their arms are the sails that turned by the +wind make the millstone go.” +</p> +<p> +“It is easy to see,” replied Don Quixote, “that thou art not used to this +business of adventures; those are giants; and if thou art afraid, away +with thee out of this and betake thyself to prayer while I engage them in +fierce and unequal combat.” +</p> +<p> +So saying, he gave the spur to his steed Rocinante, heedless of the cries +his squire Sancho sent after him, warning him that most certainly they +were windmills and not giants he was going to attack. He, however, was so +positive they were giants that he neither heard the cries of Sancho, nor +perceived, near as he was, what they were, but made at them shouting, “Fly +not, cowards and vile beings, for a single knight attacks you.” +</p> +<p> +A slight breeze at this moment sprang up, and the great sails began to +move, seeing which Don Quixote exclaimed, “Though ye flourish more arms +than the giant Briareus, ye have to reckon with me.” +</p> +<p> +So saying, and commending himself with all his heart to his lady Dulcinea, +imploring her to support him in such a peril, with lance in rest and +covered by his buckler, he charged at Rocinante’s fullest gallop and fell +upon the first mill that stood in front of him; but as he drove his +lance-point into the sail the wind whirled it round with such force that +it shivered the lance to pieces, sweeping with it horse and rider, who +went rolling over on the plain, in a sorry condition. Sancho hastened to +his assistance as fast as his ass could go, and when he came up found him +unable to move, with such a shock had Rocinante fallen with him. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c08b" id="c08b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c08b.jpg (358K)" src="images/c08b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c08b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“God bless me!” said Sancho, “did I not tell your worship to mind what you +were about, for they were only windmills? and no one could have made any +mistake about it but one who had something of the same kind in his head.” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, friend Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “the fortunes of war more than +any other are liable to frequent fluctuations; and moreover I think, and +it is the truth, that that same sage Friston who carried off my study and +books, has turned these giants into mills in order to rob me of the glory +of vanquishing them, such is the enmity he bears me; but in the end his +wicked arts will avail but little against my good sword.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c08c" id="c08c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c08c.jpg (301K)" src="images/c08c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c08c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“God order it as he may,” said Sancho Panza, and helping him to rise got +him up again on Rocinante, whose shoulder was half out; and then, +discussing the late adventure, they followed the road to Puerto Lapice, +for there, said Don Quixote, they could not fail to find adventures in +abundance and variety, as it was a great thoroughfare. For all that, he +was much grieved at the loss of his lance, and saying so to his squire, he +added, “I remember having read how a Spanish knight, Diego Perez de Vargas +by name, having broken his sword in battle, tore from an oak a ponderous +bough or branch, and with it did such things that day, and pounded so many +Moors, that he got the surname of Machuca, and he and his descendants from +that day forth were called Vargas y Machuca. I mention this because from +the first oak I see I mean to rend such another branch, large and stout +like that, with which I am determined and resolved to do such deeds that +thou mayest deem thyself very fortunate in being found worthy to come and +see them, and be an eyewitness of things that will with difficulty be +believed.” +</p> +<p> +“Be that as God will,” said Sancho, “I believe it all as your worship says +it; but straighten yourself a little, for you seem all on one side, may be +from the shaking of the fall.” +</p> +<p> +“That is the truth,” said Don Quixote, “and if I make no complaint of the +pain it is because knights-errant are not permitted to complain of any +wound, even though their bowels be coming out through it.” +</p> +<p> +“If so,” said Sancho, “I have nothing to say; but God knows I would rather +your worship complained when anything ailed you. For my part, I confess I +must complain however small the ache may be; unless this rule about not +complaining extends to the squires of knights-errant also.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote could not help laughing at his squire’s simplicity, and he +assured him he might complain whenever and however he chose, just as he +liked, for, so far, he had never read of anything to the contrary in the +order of knighthood. +</p> +<p> +Sancho bade him remember it was dinner-time, to which his master answered +that he wanted nothing himself just then, but that he might eat when he +had a mind. With this permission Sancho settled himself as comfortably as +he could on his beast, and taking out of the alforjas what he had stowed +away in them, he jogged along behind his master munching deliberately, and +from time to time taking a pull at the bota with a relish that the +thirstiest tapster in Malaga might have envied; and while he went on in +this way, gulping down draught after draught, he never gave a thought to +any of the promises his master had made him, nor did he rate it as +hardship but rather as recreation going in quest of adventures, however +dangerous they might be. Finally they passed the night among some trees, +from one of which Don Quixote plucked a dry branch to serve him after a +fashion as a lance, and fixed on it the head he had removed from the +broken one. All that night Don Quixote lay awake thinking of his lady +Dulcinea, in order to conform to what he had read in his books, how many a +night in the forests and deserts knights used to lie sleepless supported +by the memory of their mistresses. Not so did Sancho Panza spend it, for +having his stomach full of something stronger than chicory water he made +but one sleep of it, and, if his master had not called him, neither the +rays of the sun beating on his face nor all the cheery notes of the birds +welcoming the approach of day would have had power to waken him. On +getting up he tried the bota and found it somewhat less full than the +night before, which grieved his heart because they did not seem to be on +the way to remedy the deficiency readily. Don Quixote did not care to +break his fast, for, as has been already said, he confined himself to +savoury recollections for nourishment. +</p> +<p> +They returned to the road they had set out with, leading to Puerto Lapice, +and at three in the afternoon they came in sight of it. “Here, brother +Sancho Panza,” said Don Quixote when he saw it, “we may plunge our hands +up to the elbows in what they call adventures; but observe, even shouldst +thou see me in the greatest danger in the world, thou must not put a hand +to thy sword in my defence, unless indeed thou perceivest that those who +assail me are rabble or base folk; for in that case thou mayest very +properly aid me; but if they be knights it is on no account permitted or +allowed thee by the laws of knighthood to help me until thou hast been +dubbed a knight.” +</p> +<p> +“Most certainly, señor,” replied Sancho, “your worship shall be fully +obeyed in this matter; all the more as of myself I am peaceful and no +friend to mixing in strife and quarrels: it is true that as regards the +defence of my own person I shall not give much heed to those laws, for +laws human and divine allow each one to defend himself against any +assailant whatever.” +</p> +<p> +“That I grant,” said Don Quixote, “but in this matter of aiding me against +knights thou must put a restraint upon thy natural impetuosity.” +</p> +<p> +“I will do so, I promise you,” answered Sancho, “and will keep this +precept as carefully as Sunday.” +</p> +<p> +While they were thus talking there appeared on the road two friars of the +order of St. Benedict, mounted on two dromedaries, for not less tall were +the two mules they rode on. They wore travelling spectacles and carried +sunshades; and behind them came a coach attended by four or five persons +on horseback and two muleteers on foot. In the coach there was, as +afterwards appeared, a Biscay lady on her way to Seville, where her +husband was about to take passage for the Indies with an appointment of +high honour. The friars, though going the same road, were not in her +company; but the moment Don Quixote perceived them he said to his squire, +“Either I am mistaken, or this is going to be the most famous adventure +that has ever been seen, for those black bodies we see there must be, and +doubtless are, magicians who are carrying off some stolen princess in that +coach, and with all my might I must undo this wrong.” +</p> +<p> +“This will be worse than the windmills,” said Sancho. “Look, señor; those +are friars of St. Benedict, and the coach plainly belongs to some +travellers: I tell you to mind well what you are about and don’t let the +devil mislead you.” +</p> +<p> +“I have told thee already, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that on the +subject of adventures thou knowest little. What I say is the truth, as +thou shalt see presently.” +</p> +<p> +So saying, he advanced and posted himself in the middle of the road along +which the friars were coming, and as soon as he thought they had come near +enough to hear what he said, he cried aloud, “Devilish and unnatural +beings, release instantly the highborn princesses whom you are carrying +off by force in this coach, else prepare to meet a speedy death as the +just punishment of your evil deeds.” +</p> +<p> +The friars drew rein and stood wondering at the appearance of Don Quixote +as well as at his words, to which they replied, “Señor Caballero, we are +not devilish or unnatural, but two brothers of St. Benedict following our +road, nor do we know whether or not there are any captive princesses +coming in this coach.” +</p> +<p> +“No soft words with me, for I know you, lying rabble,” said Don Quixote, +and without waiting for a reply he spurred Rocinante and with levelled +lance charged the first friar with such fury and determination, that, if +the friar had not flung himself off the mule, he would have brought him to +the ground against his will, and sore wounded, if not killed outright. The +second brother, seeing how his comrade was treated, drove his heels into +his castle of a mule and made off across the country faster than the wind. +</p> +<p> +Sancho Panza, when he saw the friar on the ground, dismounting briskly from his +ass, rushed towards him and began to strip off his gown. At that instant the +friars’ muleteers came up and asked what he was stripping him for. Sancho +answered them that this fell to him lawfully as spoil of the battle which his +lord Don Quixote had won. The muleteers, who had no idea of a joke and did not +understand all this about battles and spoils, seeing that Don Quixote was some +distance off talking to the travellers in the coach, fell upon Sancho, knocked +him down, and leaving hardly a hair in his beard, belaboured him with kicks and +left him stretched breathless and senseless on the ground; and without any more +delay helped the friar to mount, who, trembling, terrified, and pale, as soon +as he found himself in the saddle, spurred after his companion, who was +standing at a distance looking on, watching the result of the onslaught; then, +not caring to wait for the end of the affair just begun, they pursued their +journey making more crosses than if they had the devil after them. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote was, as has been said, speaking to the lady in the coach: +“Your beauty, lady mine,” said he, “may now dispose of your +person as may be most in accordance with your pleasure, for the pride of your +ravishers lies prostrate on the ground through this strong arm of mine; and +lest you should be pining to know the name of your deliverer, know that I am +called Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant and adventurer, and captive to +the peerless and beautiful lady Dulcinea del Toboso: and in return for the +service you have received of me I ask no more than that you should return to El +Toboso, and on my behalf present yourself before that lady and tell her what I +have done to set you free.” +</p> +<p> +One of the squires in attendance upon the coach, a Biscayan, was listening +to all Don Quixote was saying, and, perceiving that he would not allow the +coach to go on, but was saying it must return at once to El Toboso, he +made at him, and seizing his lance addressed him in bad Castilian and +worse Biscayan after his fashion, “Begone, caballero, and ill go with +thee; by the God that made me, unless thou quittest coach, slayest thee as +art here a Biscayan.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote understood him quite well, and answered him very quietly, “If +thou wert a knight, as thou art none, I should have already chastised thy +folly and rashness, miserable creature.” To which the Biscayan returned, +“I no gentleman!—I swear to God thou liest as I am Christian: if +thou droppest lance and drawest sword, soon shalt thou see thou art +carrying water to the cat: Biscayan on land, hidalgo at sea, hidalgo at +the devil, and look, if thou sayest otherwise thou liest.” +</p> +<p> +“‘"You will see presently,” said Agrajes,’” replied Don Quixote; and +throwing his lance on the ground he drew his sword, braced his buckler on +his arm, and attacked the Biscayan, bent upon taking his life. +</p> +<p> +The Biscayan, when he saw him coming on, though he wished to dismount from +his mule, in which, being one of those sorry ones let out for hire, he had +no confidence, had no choice but to draw his sword; it was lucky for him, +however, that he was near the coach, from which he was able to snatch a +cushion that served him for a shield; and they went at one another as if +they had been two mortal enemies. The others strove to make peace between +them, but could not, for the Biscayan declared in his disjointed phrase +that if they did not let him finish his battle he would kill his mistress +and everyone that strove to prevent him. The lady in the coach, amazed and +terrified at what she saw, ordered the coachman to draw aside a little, +and set herself to watch this severe struggle, in the course of which the +Biscayan smote Don Quixote a mighty stroke on the shoulder over the top of +his buckler, which, given to one without armour, would have cleft him to +the waist. Don Quixote, feeling the weight of this prodigious blow, cried +aloud, saying, “O lady of my soul, Dulcinea, flower of beauty, come to the +aid of this your knight, who, in fulfilling his obligations to your +beauty, finds himself in this extreme peril.” To say this, to lift his +sword, to shelter himself well behind his buckler, and to assail the +Biscayan was the work of an instant, determined as he was to venture all +upon a single blow. The Biscayan, seeing him come on in this way, was +convinced of his courage by his spirited bearing, and resolved to follow +his example, so he waited for him keeping well under cover of his cushion, +being unable to execute any sort of manoeuvre with his mule, which, dead +tired and never meant for this kind of game, could not stir a step. +</p> +<p> +On, then, as aforesaid, came Don Quixote against the wary Biscayan, with +uplifted sword and a firm intention of splitting him in half, while on his +side the Biscayan waited for him sword in hand, and under the protection +of his cushion; and all present stood trembling, waiting in suspense the +result of blows such as threatened to fall, and the lady in the coach and +the rest of her following were making a thousand vows and offerings to all +the images and shrines of Spain, that God might deliver her squire and all +of them from this great peril in which they found themselves. But it +spoils all, that at this point and crisis the author of the history leaves +this battle impending, giving as excuse that he could find nothing more +written about these achievements of Don Quixote than what has been already +set forth. It is true the second author of this work was unwilling to +believe that a history so curious could have been allowed to fall under +the sentence of oblivion, or that the wits of La Mancha could have been so +undiscerning as not to preserve in their archives or registries some +documents referring to this famous knight; and this being his persuasion, +he did not despair of finding the conclusion of this pleasant history, +which, heaven favouring him, he did find in a way that shall be related in +the Second Part. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c08e" id="c08e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c08e.jpg (54K)" src="images/c08e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch9" id="ch9"></a>CHAPTER IX. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH IS CONCLUDED AND FINISHED THE TERRIFIC BATTLE BETWEEN THE GALLANT +BISCAYAN AND THE VALIANT MANCHEGAN +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c09a" id="c09a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c09a.jpg (142K)" src="images/c09a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c09a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +In the First Part of this history we left the valiant Biscayan and the +renowned Don Quixote with drawn swords uplifted, ready to deliver two such +furious slashing blows that if they had fallen full and fair they would at +least have split and cleft them asunder from top to toe and laid them open +like a pomegranate; and at this so critical point the delightful history +came to a stop and stood cut short without any intimation from the author +where what was missing was to be found. +</p> +<p> +This distressed me greatly, because the pleasure derived from having read +such a small portion turned to vexation at the thought of the poor chance +that presented itself of finding the large part that, so it seemed to me, +was missing of such an interesting tale. It appeared to me to be a thing +impossible and contrary to all precedent that so good a knight should have +been without some sage to undertake the task of writing his marvellous +achievements; a thing that was never wanting to any of those +knights-errant who, they say, went after adventures; for every one of them +had one or two sages as if made on purpose, who not only recorded their +deeds but described their most trifling thoughts and follies, however +secret they might be; and such a good knight could not have been so +unfortunate as not to have what Platir and others like him had in +abundance. And so I could not bring myself to believe that such a gallant +tale had been left maimed and mutilated, and I laid the blame on Time, the +devourer and destroyer of all things, that had either concealed or +consumed it. +</p> +<p> +On the other hand, it struck me that, inasmuch as among his books there +had been found such modern ones as “The Enlightenment of Jealousy” and the +“Nymphs and Shepherds of Henares,” his story must likewise be modern, and +that though it might not be written, it might exist in the memory of the +people of his village and of those in the neighbourhood. This reflection +kept me perplexed and longing to know really and truly the whole life and +wondrous deeds of our famous Spaniard, Don Quixote of La Mancha, light and +mirror of Manchegan chivalry, and the first that in our age and in these +so evil days devoted himself to the labour and exercise of the arms of +knight-errantry, righting wrongs, succouring widows, and protecting +damsels of that sort that used to ride about, whip in hand, on their +palfreys, with all their virginity about them, from mountain to mountain +and valley to valley—for, if it were not for some ruffian, or boor +with a hood and hatchet, or monstrous giant, that forced them, there were +in days of yore damsels that at the end of eighty years, in all which time +they had never slept a day under a roof, went to their graves as much +maids as the mothers that bore them. I say, then, that in these and other +respects our gallant Don Quixote is worthy of everlasting and notable +praise, nor should it be withheld even from me for the labour and pains +spent in searching for the conclusion of this delightful history; though I +know well that if Heaven, chance and good fortune had not helped me, the +world would have remained deprived of an entertainment and pleasure that +for a couple of hours or so may well occupy him who shall read it +attentively. The discovery of it occurred in this way. +</p> +<p> +One day, as I was in the Alcana of Toledo, a boy came up to sell some +pamphlets and old papers to a silk mercer, and, as I am fond of reading +even the very scraps of paper in the streets, led by this natural bent of +mine I took up one of the pamphlets the boy had for sale, and saw that it +was in characters which I recognised as Arabic, and as I was unable to +read them though I could recognise them, I looked about to see if there +were any Spanish-speaking Morisco at hand to read them for me; nor was +there any great difficulty in finding such an interpreter, for even had I +sought one for an older and better language I should have found him. In +short, chance provided me with one, who when I told him what I wanted and +put the book into his hands, opened it in the middle and after reading a +little in it began to laugh. I asked him what he was laughing at, and he +replied that it was at something the book had written in the margin by way +of a note. I bade him tell it to me; and he still laughing said, “In the +margin, as I told you, this is written: ‘This Dulcinea del Toboso so often +mentioned in this history, had, they say, the best hand of any woman in +all La Mancha for salting pigs.’” +</p> +<p> +When I heard Dulcinea del Toboso named, I was struck with surprise and +amazement, for it occurred to me at once that these pamphlets contained +the history of Don Quixote. With this idea I pressed him to read the +beginning, and doing so, turning the Arabic offhand into Castilian, he +told me it meant, “History of Don Quixote of La Mancha, written by Cid +Hamete Benengeli, an Arab historian.” It required great caution to hide +the joy I felt when the title of the book reached my ears, and snatching +it from the silk mercer, I bought all the papers and pamphlets from the +boy for half a real; and if he had had his wits about him and had known +how eager I was for them, he might have safely calculated on making more +than six reals by the bargain. I withdrew at once with the Morisco into +the cloister of the cathedral, and begged him to turn all these pamphlets +that related to Don Quixote into the Castilian tongue, without omitting or +adding anything to them, offering him whatever payment he pleased. He was +satisfied with two arrobas of raisins and two bushels of wheat, and +promised to translate them faithfully and with all despatch; but to make +the matter easier, and not to let such a precious find out of my hands, I +took him to my house, where in little more than a month and a half he +translated the whole just as it is set down here. +</p> +<p> +In the first pamphlet the battle between Don Quixote and the Biscayan was +drawn to the very life, they planted in the same attitude as the history +describes, their swords raised, and the one protected by his buckler, the +other by his cushion, and the Biscayan’s mule so true to nature that it +could be seen to be a hired one a bowshot off. The Biscayan had an +inscription under his feet which said, “Don Sancho de Azpeitia,” which no +doubt must have been his name; and at the feet of Rocinante was another +that said, “Don Quixote.” Rocinante was marvellously portrayed, so long +and thin, so lank and lean, with so much backbone and so far gone in +consumption, that he showed plainly with what judgment and propriety the +name of Rocinante had been bestowed upon him. Near him was Sancho Panza +holding the halter of his ass, at whose feet was another label that said, +“Sancho Zancas,” and according to the picture, he must have had a big +belly, a short body, and long shanks, for which reason, no doubt, the +names of Panza and Zancas were given him, for by these two surnames the +history several times calls him. Some other trifling particulars might be +mentioned, but they are all of slight importance and have nothing to do +with the true relation of the history; and no history can be bad so long +as it is true. +</p> +<p> +If against the present one any objection be raised on the score of its +truth, it can only be that its author was an Arab, as lying is a very +common propensity with those of that nation; though, as they are such +enemies of ours, it is conceivable that there were omissions rather than +additions made in the course of it. And this is my own opinion; for, where +he could and should give freedom to his pen in praise of so worthy a +knight, he seems to me deliberately to pass it over in silence; which is +ill done and worse contrived, for it is the business and duty of +historians to be exact, truthful, and wholly free from passion, and +neither interest nor fear, hatred nor love, should make them swerve from +the path of truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, storehouse of +deeds, witness for the past, example and counsel for the present, and +warning for the future. In this I know will be found all that can be +desired in the pleasantest, and if it be wanting in any good quality, I +maintain it is the fault of its hound of an author and not the fault of +the subject. To be brief, its Second Part, according to the translation, +began in this way: +</p> +<p> +With trenchant swords upraised and poised on high, it seemed as though the +two valiant and wrathful combatants stood threatening heaven, and earth, +and hell, with such resolution and determination did they bear themselves. +The fiery Biscayan was the first to strike a blow, which was delivered +with such force and fury that had not the sword turned in its course, that +single stroke would have sufficed to put an end to the bitter struggle and +to all the adventures of our knight; but that good fortune which reserved +him for greater things, turned aside the sword of his adversary, so that +although it smote him upon the left shoulder, it did him no more harm than +to strip all that side of its armour, carrying away a great part of his +helmet with half of his ear, all which with fearful ruin fell to the +ground, leaving him in a sorry plight. +</p> +<p> +Good God! Who is there that could properly describe the rage that filled +the heart of our Manchegan when he saw himself dealt with in this fashion? +All that can be said is, it was such that he again raised himself in his +stirrups, and, grasping his sword more firmly with both hands, he came +down on the Biscayan with such fury, smiting him full over the cushion and +over the head, that—even so good a shield proving useless—as +if a mountain had fallen on him, he began to bleed from nose, mouth, and +ears, reeling as if about to fall backwards from his mule, as no doubt he +would have done had he not flung his arms about its neck; at the same +time, however, he slipped his feet out of the stirrups and then unclasped +his arms, and the mule, taking fright at the terrible blow, made off +across the plain, and with a few plunges flung its master to the ground. +Don Quixote stood looking on very calmly, and, when he saw him fall, +leaped from his horse and with great briskness ran to him, and, presenting +the point of his sword to his eyes, bade him surrender, or he would cut +his head off. The Biscayan was so bewildered that he was unable to answer +a word, and it would have gone hard with him, so blind was Don Quixote, +had not the ladies in the coach, who had hitherto been watching the combat +in great terror, hastened to where he stood and implored him with earnest +entreaties to grant them the great grace and favour of sparing their +squire’s life; to which Don Quixote replied with much gravity and dignity, +“In truth, fair ladies, I am well content to do what ye ask of me; but it +must be on one condition and understanding, which is that this knight +promise me to go to the village of El Toboso, and on my behalf present +himself before the peerless lady Dulcinea, that she deal with him as shall +be most pleasing to her.” +</p> +<p> +The terrified and disconsolate ladies, without discussing Don Quixote’s +demand or asking who Dulcinea might be, promised that their squire should +do all that had been commanded. +</p> +<p> +“Then, on the faith of that promise,” said Don Quixote, “I shall do him no +further harm, though he well deserves it of me.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c09e" id="c09e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c09e.jpg (61K)" src="images/c09e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c09e.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch10" id="ch10"></a>CHAPTER X. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE +SANCHO PANZA +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c10a" id="c10a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c10a.jpg (91K)" src="images/c10a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c10a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Now by this time Sancho had risen, rather the worse for the handling of +the friars’ muleteers, and stood watching the battle of his master, Don +Quixote, and praying to God in his heart that it might be his will to +grant him the victory, and that he might thereby win some island to make +him governor of, as he had promised. Seeing, therefore, that the struggle +was now over, and that his master was returning to mount Rocinante, he +approached to hold the stirrup for him, and, before he could mount, he +went on his knees before him, and taking his hand, kissed it saying, “May +it please your worship, Señor Don Quixote, to give me the government of +that island which has been won in this hard fight, for be it ever so big I +feel myself in sufficient force to be able to govern it as much and as +well as anyone in the world who has ever governed islands.” +</p> +<p> +To which Don Quixote replied, “Thou must take notice, brother Sancho, that +this adventure and those like it are not adventures of islands, but of +cross-roads, in which nothing is got except a broken head or an ear the +less: have patience, for adventures will present themselves from which I +may make you, not only a governor, but something more.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho gave him many thanks, and again kissing his hand and the skirt of +his hauberk, helped him to mount Rocinante, and mounting his ass himself, +proceeded to follow his master, who at a brisk pace, without taking leave, +or saying anything further to the ladies belonging to the coach, turned +into a wood that was hard by. Sancho followed him at his ass’s best trot, +but Rocinante stepped out so that, seeing himself left behind, he was +forced to call to his master to wait for him. Don Quixote did so, reining +in Rocinante until his weary squire came up, who on reaching him said, “It +seems to me, señor, it would be prudent in us to go and take refuge in +some church, for, seeing how mauled he with whom you fought has been left, +it will be no wonder if they give information of the affair to the Holy +Brotherhood and arrest us, and, faith, if they do, before we come out of +gaol we shall have to sweat for it.” +</p> +<p> +“Peace,” said Don Quixote; “where hast thou ever seen or heard that a +knight-errant has been arraigned before a court of justice, however many +homicides he may have committed?” +</p> +<p> +“I know nothing about omecils,” answered Sancho, “nor in my life have had +anything to do with one; I only know that the Holy Brotherhood looks after +those who fight in the fields, and in that other matter I do not meddle.” +</p> +<p> +“Then thou needst have no uneasiness, my friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I +will deliver thee out of the hands of the Chaldeans, much more out of +those of the Brotherhood. But tell me, as thou livest, hast thou seen a +more valiant knight than I in all the known world; hast thou read in +history of any who has or had higher mettle in attack, more spirit in +maintaining it, more dexterity in wounding or skill in overthrowing?” +</p> +<p> +“The truth is,” answered Sancho, “that I have never read any history, for +I can neither read nor write, but what I will venture to bet is that a +more daring master than your worship I have never served in all the days +of my life, and God grant that this daring be not paid for where I have +said; what I beg of your worship is to dress your wound, for a great deal +of blood flows from that ear, and I have here some lint and a little white +ointment in the alforjas.” +</p> +<p> +“All that might be well dispensed with,” said Don Quixote, “if I had +remembered to make a vial of the balsam of Fierabras, for time and +medicine are saved by one single drop.” +</p> +<p> +“What vial and what balsam is that?” said Sancho Panza. +</p> +<p> +“It is a balsam,” answered Don Quixote, “the receipt of which I have in my +memory, with which one need have no fear of death, or dread dying of any +wound; and so when I make it and give it to thee thou hast nothing to do +when in some battle thou seest they have cut me in half through the middle +of the body—as is wont to happen frequently—but neatly and +with great nicety, ere the blood congeal, to place that portion of the +body which shall have fallen to the ground upon the other half which +remains in the saddle, taking care to fit it on evenly and exactly. Then +thou shalt give me to drink but two drops of the balsam I have mentioned, +and thou shalt see me become sounder than an apple.” +</p> +<p> +“If that be so,” said Panza, “I renounce henceforth the government of the +promised island, and desire nothing more in payment of my many and +faithful services than that your worship give me the receipt of this +supreme liquor, for I am persuaded it will be worth more than two reals an +ounce anywhere, and I want no more to pass the rest of my life in ease and +honour; but it remains to be told if it costs much to make it.” +</p> +<p> +“With less than three reals, six quarts of it may be made,” said Don +Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Sinner that I am!” said Sancho, “then why does your worship put off +making it and teaching it to me?” +</p> +<p> +“Peace, friend,” answered Don Quixote; “greater secrets I mean to teach +thee and greater favours to bestow upon thee; and for the present let us +see to the dressing, for my ear pains me more than I could wish.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho took out some lint and ointment from the alforjas; but when Don +Quixote came to see his helmet shattered, he was like to lose his senses, +and clapping his hand upon his sword and raising his eyes to heaven, he +said, “I swear by the Creator of all things and the four Gospels in their +fullest extent, to do as the great Marquis of Mantua did when he swore to +avenge the death of his nephew Baldwin (and that was not to eat bread from +a table-cloth, nor embrace his wife, and other points which, though I +cannot now call them to mind, I here grant as expressed) until I take +complete vengeance upon him who has committed such an offence against me.” +</p> +<p> +Hearing this, Sancho said to him, “Your worship should bear in mind, Señor +Don Quixote, that if the knight has done what was commanded him in going +to present himself before my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he will have done +all that he was bound to do, and does not deserve further punishment +unless he commits some new offence.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou hast said well and hit the point,” answered Don Quixote; and so I +recall the oath in so far as relates to taking fresh vengeance on him, but +I make and confirm it anew to lead the life I have said until such time as +I take by force from some knight another helmet such as this and as good; +and think not, Sancho, that I am raising smoke with straw in doing so, for +I have one to imitate in the matter, since the very same thing to a hair +happened in the case of Mambrino’s helmet, which cost Sacripante so dear.” +</p> +<p> +“Señor,” replied Sancho, “let your worship send all such oaths to the +devil, for they are very pernicious to salvation and prejudicial to the +conscience; just tell me now, if for several days to come we fall in with +no man armed with a helmet, what are we to do? Is the oath to be observed +in spite of all the inconvenience and discomfort it will be to sleep in +your clothes, and not to sleep in a house, and a thousand other +mortifications contained in the oath of that old fool the Marquis of +Mantua, which your worship is now wanting to revive? Let your worship +observe that there are no men in armour travelling on any of these roads, +nothing but carriers and carters, who not only do not wear helmets, but +perhaps never heard tell of them all their lives.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou art wrong there,” said Don Quixote, “for we shall not have been +above two hours among these cross-roads before we see more men in armour +than came to Albraca to win the fair Angelica.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough,” said Sancho; “so be it then, and God grant us success, and that +the time for winning that island which is costing me so dear may soon +come, and then let me die.” +</p> +<p> +“I have already told thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “not to give thyself +any uneasiness on that score; for if an island should fail, there is the +kingdom of Denmark, or of Sobradisa, which will fit thee as a ring fits +the finger, and all the more that, being on terra firma, thou wilt all the +better enjoy thyself. But let us leave that to its own time; see if thou +hast anything for us to eat in those alforjas, because we must presently +go in quest of some castle where we may lodge to-night and make the balsam +I told thee of, for I swear to thee by God, this ear is giving me great +pain.” +</p> +<p> +“I have here an onion and a little cheese and a few scraps of bread,” said +Sancho, “but they are not victuals fit for a valiant knight like your +worship.” +</p> +<p> +“How little thou knowest about it,” answered Don Quixote; “I would have +thee to know, Sancho, that it is the glory of knights-errant to go without +eating for a month, and even when they do eat, that it should be of what +comes first to hand; and this would have been clear to thee hadst thou +read as many histories as I have, for, though they are very many, among +them all I have found no mention made of knights-errant eating, unless by +accident or at some sumptuous banquets prepared for them, and the rest of +the time they passed in dalliance. And though it is plain they could not +do without eating and performing all the other natural functions, because, +in fact, they were men like ourselves, it is plain too that, wandering as +they did the most part of their lives through woods and wilds and without +a cook, their most usual fare would be rustic viands such as those thou +now offer me; so that, friend Sancho, let not that distress thee which +pleases me, and do not seek to make a new world or pervert +knight-errantry.” +</p> +<p> +“Pardon me, your worship,” said Sancho, “for, as I cannot read or write, +as I said just now, I neither know nor comprehend the rules of the +profession of chivalry: henceforward I will stock the alforjas with every +kind of dry fruit for your worship, as you are a knight; and for myself, +as I am not one, I will furnish them with poultry and other things more +substantial.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not say, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that it is imperative on +knights-errant not to eat anything else but the fruits thou speakest of; +only that their more usual diet must be those, and certain herbs they +found in the fields which they knew and I know too.” +</p> +<p> +“A good thing it is,” answered Sancho, “to know those herbs, for to my +thinking it will be needful some day to put that knowledge into practice.” +</p> +<p> +And here taking out what he said he had brought, the pair made their +repast peaceably and sociably. But anxious to find quarters for the night, +they with all despatch made an end of their poor dry fare, mounted at +once, and made haste to reach some habitation before night set in; but +daylight and the hope of succeeding in their object failed them close by +the huts of some goatherds, so they determined to pass the night there, +and it was as much to Sancho’s discontent not to have reached a house, as +it was to his master’s satisfaction to sleep under the open heaven, for he +fancied that each time this happened to him he performed an act of +ownership that helped to prove his chivalry. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c10e" id="c10e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c10e.jpg (57K)" src="images/c10e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch11" id="ch11"></a>CHAPTER XI. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH CERTAIN GOATHERDS +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c11a" id="c11a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c11a.jpg (173K)" src="images/c11a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c11a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +He was cordially welcomed by the goatherds, and Sancho, having as best he +could put up Rocinante and the ass, drew towards the fragrance that came +from some pieces of salted goat simmering in a pot on the fire; and though +he would have liked at once to try if they were ready to be transferred +from the pot to the stomach, he refrained from doing so as the goatherds +removed them from the fire, and laying sheepskins on the ground, quickly +spread their rude table, and with signs of hearty good-will invited them +both to share what they had. Round the skins six of the men belonging to +the fold seated themselves, having first with rough politeness pressed Don +Quixote to take a seat upon a trough which they placed for him upside +down. Don Quixote seated himself, and Sancho remained standing to serve +the cup, which was made of horn. Seeing him standing, his master said to +him: +</p> +<p> +“That thou mayest see, Sancho, the good that knight-errantry contains in +itself, and how those who fill any office in it are on the high road to be +speedily honoured and esteemed by the world, I desire that thou seat +thyself here at my side and in the company of these worthy people, and +that thou be one with me who am thy master and natural lord, and that thou +eat from my plate and drink from whatever I drink from; for the same may +be said of knight-errantry as of love, that it levels all.” +</p> +<p> +“Great thanks,” said Sancho, “but I may tell your worship that provided I +have enough to eat, I can eat it as well, or better, standing, and by +myself, than seated alongside of an emperor. And indeed, if the truth is +to be told, what I eat in my corner without form or fuss has much more +relish for me, even though it be bread and onions, than the turkeys of +those other tables where I am forced to chew slowly, drink little, wipe my +mouth every minute, and cannot sneeze or cough if I want or do other +things that are the privileges of liberty and solitude. So, señor, as for +these honours which your worship would put upon me as a servant and +follower of knight-errantry, exchange them for other things which may be +of more use and advantage to me; for these, though I fully acknowledge +them as received, I renounce from this moment to the end of the world.” +</p> +<p> +“For all that,” said Don Quixote, “thou must seat thyself, because him who +humbleth himself God exalteth;” and seizing him by the arm he forced him +to sit down beside himself. +</p> +<p> +The goatherds did not understand this jargon about squires and +knights-errant, and all they did was to eat in silence and stare at their +guests, who with great elegance and appetite were stowing away pieces as +big as one’s fist. The course of meat finished, they spread upon the +sheepskins a great heap of parched acorns, and with them they put down a +half cheese harder than if it had been made of mortar. All this while the +horn was not idle, for it went round so constantly, now full, now empty, +like the bucket of a water-wheel, that it soon drained one of the two +wine-skins that were in sight. When Don Quixote had quite appeased his +appetite he took up a handful of the acorns, and contemplating them +attentively delivered himself somewhat in this fashion: +</p> +<p> +“Happy the age, happy the time, to which the ancients gave the name of +golden, not because in that fortunate age the gold so coveted in this our +iron one was gained without toil, but because they that lived in it knew +not the two words “mine” and “thine”! In that blessed age all things were +in common; to win the daily food no labour was required of any save to +stretch forth his hand and gather it from the sturdy oaks that stood +generously inviting him with their sweet ripe fruit. The clear streams and +running brooks yielded their savoury limpid waters in noble abundance. The +busy and sagacious bees fixed their republic in the clefts of the rocks +and hollows of the trees, offering without usance the plenteous produce of +their fragrant toil to every hand. The mighty cork trees, unenforced save +of their own courtesy, shed the broad light bark that served at first to +roof the houses supported by rude stakes, a protection against the +inclemency of heaven alone. Then all was peace, all friendship, all +concord; as yet the dull share of the crooked plough had not dared to rend +and pierce the tender bowels of our first mother that without compulsion +yielded from every portion of her broad fertile bosom all that could +satisfy, sustain, and delight the children that then possessed her. Then +was it that the innocent and fair young shepherdess roamed from vale to +vale and hill to hill, with flowing locks, and no more garments than were +needful modestly to cover what modesty seeks and ever sought to hide. Nor +were their ornaments like those in use to-day, set off by Tyrian purple, +and silk tortured in endless fashions, but the wreathed leaves of the +green dock and ivy, wherewith they went as bravely and becomingly decked +as our Court dames with all the rare and far-fetched artifices that idle +curiosity has taught them. Then the love-thoughts of the heart clothed +themselves simply and naturally as the heart conceived them, nor sought to +commend themselves by forced and rambling verbiage. Fraud, deceit, or +malice had then not yet mingled with truth and sincerity. Justice held her +ground, undisturbed and unassailed by the efforts of favour and of +interest, that now so much impair, pervert, and beset her. Arbitrary law +had not yet established itself in the mind of the judge, for then there +was no cause to judge and no one to be judged. Maidens and modesty, as I +have said, wandered at will alone and unattended, without fear of insult +from lawlessness or libertine assault, and if they were undone it was of +their own will and pleasure. But now in this hateful age of ours not one +is safe, not though some new labyrinth like that of Crete conceal and +surround her; even there the pestilence of gallantry will make its way to +them through chinks or on the air by the zeal of its accursed importunity, +and, despite of all seclusion, lead them to ruin. In defence of these, as +time advanced and wickedness increased, the order of knights-errant was +instituted, to defend maidens, to protect widows and to succour the +orphans and the needy. To this order I belong, brother goatherds, to whom +I return thanks for the hospitality and kindly welcome ye offer me and my +squire; for though by natural law all living are bound to show favour to +knights-errant, yet, seeing that without knowing this obligation ye have +welcomed and feasted me, it is right that with all the good-will in my +power I should thank you for yours.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c11b" id="c11b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c11b.jpg (349K)" src="images/c11b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c11b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +All this long harangue (which might very well have been spared) our knight +delivered because the acorns they gave him reminded him of the golden age; +and the whim seized him to address all this unnecessary argument to the +goatherds, who listened to him gaping in amazement without saying a word +in reply. Sancho likewise held his peace and ate acorns, and paid repeated +visits to the second wine-skin, which they had hung up on a cork tree to +keep the wine cool. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote was longer in talking than the supper in finishing, at the end +of which one of the goatherds said, “That your worship, señor +knight-errant, may say with more truth that we show you hospitality with +ready good-will, we will give you amusement and pleasure by making one of +our comrades sing: he will be here before long, and he is a very +intelligent youth and deep in love, and what is more he can read and write +and play on the rebeck to perfection.” +</p> +<p> +The goatherd had hardly done speaking, when the notes of the rebeck +reached their ears; and shortly after, the player came up, a very +good-looking young man of about two-and-twenty. His comrades asked him if +he had supped, and on his replying that he had, he who had already made +the offer said to him: +</p> +<p> +“In that case, Antonio, thou mayest as well do us the pleasure of singing +a little, that the gentleman, our guest, may see that even in the +mountains and woods there are musicians: we have told him of thy +accomplishments, and we want thee to show them and prove that we say true; +so, as thou livest, pray sit down and sing that ballad about thy love that +thy uncle the prebendary made thee, and that was so much liked in the +town.” +</p> +<p> +“With all my heart,” said the young man, and without waiting for more +pressing he seated himself on the trunk of a felled oak, and tuning his +rebeck, presently began to sing to these words. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ANTONIO’S BALLAD + +Thou dost love me well, Olalla; +Well I know it, even though +Love’s mute tongues, thine eyes, have never +By their glances told me so. + +For I know my love thou knowest, +Therefore thine to claim I dare: +Once it ceases to be secret, +Love need never feel despair. + +True it is, Olalla, sometimes +Thou hast all too plainly shown +That thy heart is brass in hardness, +And thy snowy bosom stone. + +Yet for all that, in thy coyness, +And thy fickle fits between, +Hope is there—at least the border +Of her garment may be seen. + +Lures to faith are they, those glimpses, +And to faith in thee I hold; +Kindness cannot make it stronger, +Coldness cannot make it cold. + +If it be that love is gentle, +In thy gentleness I see +Something holding out assurance +To the hope of winning thee. + +If it be that in devotion +Lies a power hearts to move, +That which every day I show thee, +Helpful to my suit should prove. + +Many a time thou must have noticed— +If to notice thou dost care— +How I go about on Monday +Dressed in all my Sunday wear. + +Love’s eyes love to look on brightness; +Love loves what is gaily drest; +Sunday, Monday, all I care is +Thou shouldst see me in my best. + +No account I make of dances, +Or of strains that pleased thee so, +Keeping thee awake from midnight +Till the cocks began to crow; + +Or of how I roundly swore it +That there’s none so fair as thou; +True it is, but as I said it, +By the girls I’m hated now. + +For Teresa of the hillside +At my praise of thee was sore; +Said, “You think you love an angel; +It’s a monkey you adore; + +“Caught by all her glittering trinkets, +And her borrowed braids of hair, +And a host of made-up beauties +That would Love himself ensnare.” + +‘T was a lie, and so I told her, +And her cousin at the word +Gave me his defiance for it; +And what followed thou hast heard. + +Mine is no high-flown affection, +Mine no passion par amours— +As they call it—what I offer +Is an honest love, and pure. + +Cunning cords the holy Church has, +Cords of softest silk they be; +Put thy neck beneath the yoke, dear; +Mine will follow, thou wilt see. + +Else—and once for all I swear it +By the saint of most renown— +If I ever quit the mountains, +‘T will be in a friar’s gown. +</pre> +<p> +Here the goatherd brought his song to an end, and though Don Quixote +entreated him to sing more, Sancho had no mind that way, being more +inclined for sleep than for listening to songs; so said he to his master, +“Your worship will do well to settle at once where you mean to pass the +night, for the labour these good men are at all day does not allow them to +spend the night in singing.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand thee, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “I perceive clearly that +those visits to the wine-skin demand compensation in sleep rather than in +music.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s sweet to us all, blessed be God,” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“I do not deny it,” replied Don Quixote; “but settle thyself where thou +wilt; those of my calling are more becomingly employed in watching than in +sleeping; still it would be as well if thou wert to dress this ear for me +again, for it is giving me more pain than it need.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho did as he bade him, but one of the goatherds, seeing the wound, +told him not to be uneasy, as he would apply a remedy with which it would +be soon healed; and gathering some leaves of rosemary, of which there was +a great quantity there, he chewed them and mixed them with a little salt, +and applying them to the ear he secured them firmly with a bandage, +assuring him that no other treatment would be required, and so it proved. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c11e" id="c11e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c11e.jpg (37K)" src="images/c11e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch12" id="ch12"></a>CHAPTER XII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF WHAT A GOATHERD RELATED TO THOSE WITH DON QUIXOTE +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c12a" id="c12a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c12a.jpg (143K)" src="images/c12a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c12a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Just then another young man, one of those who fetched their provisions +from the village, came up and said, “Do you know what is going on in the +village, comrades?” +</p> +<p> +“How could we know it?” replied one of them. +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, you must know,” continued the young man, “this morning that +famous student-shepherd called Chrysostom died, and it is rumoured that he +died of love for that devil of a village girl the daughter of Guillermo +the Rich, she that wanders about the wolds here in the dress of a +shepherdess.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean Marcela?” said one. +</p> +<p> +“Her I mean,” answered the goatherd; “and the best of it is, he has +directed in his will that he is to be buried in the fields like a Moor, +and at the foot of the rock where the Cork-tree spring is, because, as the +story goes (and they say he himself said so), that was the place where he +first saw her. And he has also left other directions which the clergy of +the village say should not and must not be obeyed because they savour of +paganism. To all which his great friend Ambrosio the student, he who, like +him, also went dressed as a shepherd, replies that everything must be done +without any omission according to the directions left by Chrysostom, and +about this the village is all in commotion; however, report says that, +after all, what Ambrosio and all the shepherds his friends desire will be +done, and to-morrow they are coming to bury him with great ceremony where +I said. I am sure it will be something worth seeing; at least I will not +fail to go and see it even if I knew I should not return to the village +to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“We will do the same,” answered the goatherds, “and cast lots to see who +must stay to mind the goats of all.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou sayest well, Pedro,” said one, “though there will be no need of +taking that trouble, for I will stay behind for all; and don’t suppose it +is virtue or want of curiosity in me; it is that the splinter that ran +into my foot the other day will not let me walk.” +</p> +<p> +“For all that, we thank thee,” answered Pedro. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote asked Pedro to tell him who the dead man was and who the +shepherdess, to which Pedro replied that all he knew was that the dead man +was a wealthy gentleman belonging to a village in those mountains, who had +been a student at Salamanca for many years, at the end of which he +returned to his village with the reputation of being very learned and +deeply read. “Above all, they said, he was learned in the science of the +stars and of what went on yonder in the heavens and the sun and the moon, +for he told us of the cris of the sun and moon to exact time.” +</p> +<p> +“Eclipse it is called, friend, not cris, the darkening of those two +luminaries,” said Don Quixote; but Pedro, not troubling himself with +trifles, went on with his story, saying, “Also he foretold when the year +was going to be one of abundance or estility.” +</p> +<p> +“Sterility, you mean,” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Sterility or estility,” answered Pedro, “it is all the same in the end. +And I can tell you that by this his father and friends who believed him +grew very rich because they did as he advised them, bidding them ‘sow +barley this year, not wheat; this year you may sow pulse and not barley; +the next there will be a full oil crop, and the three following not a drop +will be got.’” +</p> +<p> +“That science is called astrology,” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“I do not know what it is called,” replied Pedro, “but I know that he knew +all this and more besides. But, to make an end, not many months had passed +after he returned from Salamanca, when one day he appeared dressed as a +shepherd with his crook and sheepskin, having put off the long gown he +wore as a scholar; and at the same time his great friend, Ambrosio by +name, who had been his companion in his studies, took to the shepherd’s +dress with him. I forgot to say that Chrysostom, who is dead, was a great +man for writing verses, so much so that he made carols for Christmas Eve, +and plays for Corpus Christi, which the young men of our village acted, +and all said they were excellent. When the villagers saw the two scholars +so unexpectedly appearing in shepherd’s dress, they were lost in wonder, +and could not guess what had led them to make so extraordinary a change. +About this time the father of our Chrysostom died, and he was left heir to +a large amount of property in chattels as well as in land, no small number +of cattle and sheep, and a large sum of money, of all of which the young +man was left dissolute owner, and indeed he was deserving of it all, for +he was a very good comrade, and kind-hearted, and a friend of worthy folk, +and had a countenance like a benediction. Presently it came to be known +that he had changed his dress with no other object than to wander about +these wastes after that shepherdess Marcela our lad mentioned a while ago, +with whom the deceased Chrysostom had fallen in love. And I must tell you +now, for it is well you should know it, who this girl is; perhaps, and +even without any perhaps, you will not have heard anything like it all the +days of your life, though you should live more years than sarna.” +</p> +<p> +“Say Sarra,” said Don Quixote, unable to endure the goatherd’s confusion +of words. +</p> +<p> +“The sarna lives long enough,” answered Pedro; “and if, señor, you must go +finding fault with words at every step, we shall not make an end of it +this twelvemonth.” +</p> +<p> +“Pardon me, friend,” said Don Quixote; “but, as there is such a difference +between sarna and Sarra, I told you of it; however, you have answered very +rightly, for sarna lives longer than Sarra: so continue your story, and I +will not object any more to anything.” +</p> +<p> +“I say then, my dear sir,” said the goatherd, “that in our village there +was a farmer even richer than the father of Chrysostom, who was named +Guillermo, and upon whom God bestowed, over and above great wealth, a +daughter at whose birth her mother died, the most respected woman there +was in this neighbourhood; I fancy I can see her now with that countenance +which had the sun on one side and the moon on the other; and moreover +active, and kind to the poor, for which I trust that at the present moment +her soul is in bliss with God in the other world. Her husband Guillermo +died of grief at the death of so good a wife, leaving his daughter +Marcela, a child and rich, to the care of an uncle of hers, a priest and +prebendary in our village. The girl grew up with such beauty that it +reminded us of her mother’s, which was very great, and yet it was thought +that the daughter’s would exceed it; and so when she reached the age of +fourteen to fifteen years nobody beheld her but blessed God that had made +her so beautiful, and the greater number were in love with her past +redemption. Her uncle kept her in great seclusion and retirement, but for +all that the fame of her great beauty spread so that, as well for it as +for her great wealth, her uncle was asked, solicited, and importuned, to +give her in marriage not only by those of our town but of those many +leagues round, and by the persons of highest quality in them. But he, +being a good Christian man, though he desired to give her in marriage at +once, seeing her to be old enough, was unwilling to do so without her +consent, not that he had any eye to the gain and profit which the custody +of the girl’s property brought him while he put off her marriage; and, +faith, this was said in praise of the good priest in more than one set in +the town. For I would have you know, Sir Errant, that in these little +villages everything is talked about and everything is carped at, and rest +assured, as I am, that the priest must be over and above good who forces +his parishioners to speak well of him, especially in villages.” +</p> +<p> +“That is the truth,” said Don Quixote; “but go on, for the story is very +good, and you, good Pedro, tell it with very good grace.” +</p> +<p> +“May that of the Lord not be wanting to me,” said Pedro; “that is the one +to have. To proceed; you must know that though the uncle put before his +niece and described to her the qualities of each one in particular of the +many who had asked her in marriage, begging her to marry and make a choice +according to her own taste, she never gave any other answer than that she +had no desire to marry just yet, and that being so young she did not think +herself fit to bear the burden of matrimony. At these, to all appearance, +reasonable excuses that she made, her uncle ceased to urge her, and waited +till she was somewhat more advanced in age and could mate herself to her +own liking. For, said he—and he said quite right—parents are +not to settle children in life against their will. But when one least +looked for it, lo and behold! one day the demure Marcela makes her +appearance turned shepherdess; and, in spite of her uncle and all those of +the town that strove to dissuade her, took to going a-field with the other +shepherd-lasses of the village, and tending her own flock. And so, since +she appeared in public, and her beauty came to be seen openly, I could not +well tell you how many rich youths, gentlemen and peasants, have adopted +the costume of Chrysostom, and go about these fields making love to her. +One of these, as has been already said, was our deceased friend, of whom +they say that he did not love but adore her. But you must not suppose, +because Marcela chose a life of such liberty and independence, and of so +little or rather no retirement, that she has given any occasion, or even +the semblance of one, for disparagement of her purity and modesty; on the +contrary, such and so great is the vigilance with which she watches over +her honour, that of all those that court and woo her not one has boasted, +or can with truth boast, that she has given him any hope however small of +obtaining his desire. For although she does not avoid or shun the society +and conversation of the shepherds, and treats them courteously and kindly, +should any one of them come to declare his intention to her, though it be +one as proper and holy as that of matrimony, she flings him from her like +a catapult. And with this kind of disposition she does more harm in this +country than if the plague had got into it, for her affability and her +beauty draw on the hearts of those that associate with her to love her and +to court her, but her scorn and her frankness bring them to the brink of +despair; and so they know not what to say save to proclaim her aloud cruel +and hard-hearted, and other names of the same sort which well describe the +nature of her character; and if you should remain here any time, señor, +you would hear these hills and valleys resounding with the laments of the +rejected ones who pursue her. Not far from this there is a spot where +there are a couple of dozen of tall beeches, and there is not one of them +but has carved and written on its smooth bark the name of Marcela, and +above some a crown carved on the same tree as though her lover would say +more plainly that Marcela wore and deserved that of all human beauty. Here +one shepherd is sighing, there another is lamenting; there love songs are +heard, here despairing elegies. One will pass all the hours of the night +seated at the foot of some oak or rock, and there, without having closed +his weeping eyes, the sun finds him in the morning bemused and bereft of +sense; and another without relief or respite to his sighs, stretched on +the burning sand in the full heat of the sultry summer noontide, makes his +appeal to the compassionate heavens, and over one and the other, over +these and all, the beautiful Marcela triumphs free and careless. And all +of us that know her are waiting to see what her pride will come to, and +who is to be the happy man that will succeed in taming a nature so +formidable and gaining possession of a beauty so supreme. All that I have +told you being such well-established truth, I am persuaded that what they +say of the cause of Chrysostom’s death, as our lad told us, is the same. +And so I advise you, señor, fail not to be present to-morrow at his +burial, which will be well worth seeing, for Chrysostom had many friends, +and it is not half a league from this place to where he directed he should +be buried.” +</p> +<p> +“I will make a point of it,” said Don Quixote, “and I thank you for the +pleasure you have given me by relating so interesting a tale.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh,” said the goatherd, “I do not know even the half of what has happened +to the lovers of Marcela, but perhaps to-morrow we may fall in with some +shepherd on the road who can tell us; and now it will be well for you to +go and sleep under cover, for the night air may hurt your wound, though +with the remedy I have applied to you there is no fear of an untoward +result.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho Panza, who was wishing the goatherd’s loquacity at the devil, on +his part begged his master to go into Pedro’s hut to sleep. He did so, and +passed all the rest of the night in thinking of his lady Dulcinea, in +imitation of the lovers of Marcela. Sancho Panza settled himself between +Rocinante and his ass, and slept, not like a lover who had been discarded, +but like a man who had been soundly kicked. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c12e" id="c12e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c12e.jpg (42K)" src="images/c12e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch13" id="ch13"></a>CHAPTER XIII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH IS ENDED THE STORY OF THE SHEPHERDESS MARCELA, WITH OTHER +INCIDENTS +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c13a" id="c13a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c13a.jpg (181K)" src="images/c13a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c13a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +But hardly had day begun to show itself through the balconies of the east, +when five of the six goatherds came to rouse Don Quixote and tell him that +if he was still of a mind to go and see the famous burial of Chrysostom +they would bear him company. Don Quixote, who desired nothing better, rose +and ordered Sancho to saddle and pannel at once, which he did with all +despatch, and with the same they all set out forthwith. They had not gone +a quarter of a league when at the meeting of two paths they saw coming +towards them some six shepherds dressed in black sheepskins and with their +heads crowned with garlands of cypress and bitter oleander. Each of them +carried a stout holly staff in his hand, and along with them there came +two men of quality on horseback in handsome travelling dress, with three +servants on foot accompanying them. Courteous salutations were exchanged +on meeting, and inquiring one of the other which way each party was going, +they learned that all were bound for the scene of the burial, so they went +on all together. +</p> +<p> +One of those on horseback addressing his companion said to him, “It seems +to me, Señor Vivaldo, that we may reckon as well spent the delay we shall +incur in seeing this remarkable funeral, for remarkable it cannot but be +judging by the strange things these shepherds have told us, of both the +dead shepherd and homicide shepherdess.” +</p> +<p> +“So I think too,” replied Vivaldo, “and I would delay not to say a day, +but four, for the sake of seeing it.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote asked them what it was they had heard of Marcela and +Chrysostom. The traveller answered that the same morning they had met +these shepherds, and seeing them dressed in this mournful fashion they had +asked them the reason of their appearing in such a guise; which one of +them gave, describing the strange behaviour and beauty of a shepherdess +called Marcela, and the loves of many who courted her, together with the +death of that Chrysostom to whose burial they were going. In short, he +repeated all that Pedro had related to Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +This conversation dropped, and another was commenced by him who was called +Vivaldo asking Don Quixote what was the reason that led him to go armed in +that fashion in a country so peaceful. To which Don Quixote replied, “The +pursuit of my calling does not allow or permit me to go in any other +fashion; easy life, enjoyment, and repose were invented for soft +courtiers, but toil, unrest, and arms were invented and made for those +alone whom the world calls knights-errant, of whom I, though unworthy, am +the least of all.” +</p> +<p> +The instant they heard this all set him down as mad, and the better to +settle the point and discover what kind of madness his was, Vivaldo +proceeded to ask him what knights-errant meant. +</p> +<p> +“Have not your worships,” replied Don Quixote, “read the annals and +histories of England, in which are recorded the famous deeds of King +Arthur, whom we in our popular Castilian invariably call King Artus, with +regard to whom it is an ancient tradition, and commonly received all over +that kingdom of Great Britain, that this king did not die, but was changed +by magic art into a raven, and that in process of time he is to return to +reign and recover his kingdom and sceptre; for which reason it cannot be +proved that from that time to this any Englishman ever killed a raven? +Well, then, in the time of this good king that famous order of chivalry of +the Knights of the Round Table was instituted, and the amour of Don +Lancelot of the Lake with the Queen Guinevere occurred, precisely as is +there related, the go-between and confidante therein being the highly +honourable dame Quintanona, whence came that ballad so well known and +widely spread in our Spain— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +O never surely was there knight<br/> + So served by hand of dame,<br/> +As served was he Sir Lancelot hight<br/> + When he from Britain came— +</p> + +<p> +with all the sweet and delectable course of his achievements in love and +war. Handed down from that time, then, this order of chivalry went on +extending and spreading itself over many and various parts of the world; +and in it, famous and renowned for their deeds, were the mighty Amadis of +Gaul with all his sons and descendants to the fifth generation, and the +valiant Felixmarte of Hircania, and the never sufficiently praised Tirante +el Blanco, and in our own days almost we have seen and heard and talked +with the invincible knight Don Belianis of Greece. This, then, sirs, is to +be a knight-errant, and what I have spoken of is the order of his +chivalry, of which, as I have already said, I, though a sinner, have made +profession, and what the aforesaid knights professed that same do I +profess, and so I go through these solitudes and wilds seeking adventures, +resolved in soul to oppose my arm and person to the most perilous that +fortune may offer me in aid of the weak and needy.” +</p> +<p> +By these words of his the travellers were able to satisfy themselves of +Don Quixote’s being out of his senses and of the form of madness that +overmastered him, at which they felt the same astonishment that all felt +on first becoming acquainted with it; and Vivaldo, who was a person of +great shrewdness and of a lively temperament, in order to beguile the +short journey which they said was required to reach the mountain, the +scene of the burial, sought to give him an opportunity of going on with +his absurdities. So he said to him, “It seems to me, Señor Knight-errant, +that your worship has made choice of one of the most austere professions +in the world, and I imagine even that of the Carthusian monks is not so +austere.” +</p> +<p> +“As austere it may perhaps be,” replied our Don Quixote, “but so necessary +for the world I am very much inclined to doubt. For, if the truth is to be +told, the soldier who executes what his captain orders does no less than +the captain himself who gives the order. My meaning, is, that churchmen in +peace and quiet pray to Heaven for the welfare of the world, but we +soldiers and knights carry into effect what they pray for, defending it +with the might of our arms and the edge of our swords, not under shelter +but in the open air, a target for the intolerable rays of the sun in +summer and the piercing frosts of winter. Thus are we God’s ministers on +earth and the arms by which his justice is done therein. And as the +business of war and all that relates and belongs to it cannot be conducted +without exceeding great sweat, toil, and exertion, it follows that those +who make it their profession have undoubtedly more labour than those who +in tranquil peace and quiet are engaged in praying to God to help the +weak. I do not mean to say, nor does it enter into my thoughts, that the +knight-errant’s calling is as good as that of the monk in his cell; I +would merely infer from what I endure myself that it is beyond a doubt a +more laborious and a more belaboured one, a hungrier and thirstier, a +wretcheder, raggeder, and lousier; for there is no reason to doubt that +the knights-errant of yore endured much hardship in the course of their +lives. And if some of them by the might of their arms did rise to be +emperors, in faith it cost them dear in the matter of blood and sweat; and +if those who attained to that rank had not had magicians and sages to help +them they would have been completely baulked in their ambition and +disappointed in their hopes.” +</p> +<p> +“That is my own opinion,” replied the traveller; “but one thing among many +others seems to me very wrong in knights-errant, and that is that when +they find themselves about to engage in some mighty and perilous adventure +in which there is manifest danger of losing their lives, they never at the +moment of engaging in it think of commending themselves to God, as is the +duty of every good Christian in like peril; instead of which they commend +themselves to their ladies with as much devotion as if these were their +gods, a thing which seems to me to savour somewhat of heathenism.” +</p> +<p> +“Sir,” answered Don Quixote, “that cannot be on any account omitted, and +the knight-errant would be disgraced who acted otherwise: for it is usual +and customary in knight-errantry that the knight-errant, who on engaging +in any great feat of arms has his lady before him, should turn his eyes +towards her softly and lovingly, as though with them entreating her to +favour and protect him in the hazardous venture he is about to undertake, +and even though no one hear him, he is bound to say certain words between +his teeth, commending himself to her with all his heart, and of this we +have innumerable instances in the histories. Nor is it to be supposed from +this that they are to omit commending themselves to God, for there will be +time and opportunity for doing so while they are engaged in their task.” +</p> +<p> +“For all that,” answered the traveller, “I feel some doubt still, because +often I have read how words will arise between two knights-errant, and +from one thing to another it comes about that their anger kindles and they +wheel their horses round and take a good stretch of field, and then +without any more ado at the top of their speed they come to the charge, +and in mid-career they are wont to commend themselves to their ladies; and +what commonly comes of the encounter is that one falls over the haunches +of his horse pierced through and through by his antagonist’s lance, and as +for the other, it is only by holding on to the mane of his horse that he +can help falling to the ground; but I know not how the dead man had time +to commend himself to God in the course of such rapid work as this; it +would have been better if those words which he spent in commending himself +to his lady in the midst of his career had been devoted to his duty and +obligation as a Christian. Moreover, it is my belief that all +knights-errant have not ladies to commend themselves to, for they are not +all in love.” +</p> +<p> +“That is impossible,” said Don Quixote: “I say it is impossible that there +could be a knight-errant without a lady, because to such it is as natural +and proper to be in love as to the heavens to have stars: most certainly +no history has been seen in which there is to be found a knight-errant +without an amour, and for the simple reason that without one he would be +held no legitimate knight but a bastard, and one who had gained entrance +into the stronghold of the said knighthood, not by the door, but over the +wall like a thief and a robber.” +</p> +<p> +“Nevertheless,” said the traveller, “if I remember rightly, I think I have +read that Don Galaor, the brother of the valiant Amadis of Gaul, never had +any special lady to whom he might commend himself, and yet he was not the +less esteemed, and was a very stout and famous knight.” +</p> +<p> +To which our Don Quixote made answer, “Sir, one solitary swallow does not +make summer; moreover, I know that knight was in secret very deeply in +love; besides which, that way of falling in love with all that took his +fancy was a natural propensity which he could not control. But, in short, +it is very manifest that he had one alone whom he made mistress of his +will, to whom he commended himself very frequently and very secretly, for +he prided himself on being a reticent knight.” +</p> +<p> +“Then if it be essential that every knight-errant should be in love,” said +the traveller, “it may be fairly supposed that your worship is so, as you +are of the order; and if you do not pride yourself on being as reticent as +Don Galaor, I entreat you as earnestly as I can, in the name of all this +company and in my own, to inform us of the name, country, rank, and beauty +of your lady, for she will esteem herself fortunate if all the world knows +that she is loved and served by such a knight as your worship seems to +be.” +</p> +<p> +At this Don Quixote heaved a deep sigh and said, “I cannot say positively +whether my sweet enemy is pleased or not that the world should know I +serve her; I can only say in answer to what has been so courteously asked +of me, that her name is Dulcinea, her country El Toboso, a village of La +Mancha, her rank must be at least that of a princess, since she is my +queen and lady, and her beauty superhuman, since all the impossible and +fanciful attributes of beauty which the poets apply to their ladies are +verified in her; for her hairs are gold, her forehead Elysian fields, her +eyebrows rainbows, her eyes suns, her cheeks roses, her lips coral, her +teeth pearls, her neck alabaster, her bosom marble, her hands ivory, her +fairness snow, and what modesty conceals from sight such, I think and +imagine, as rational reflection can only extol, not compare.” +</p> +<p> +“We should like to know her lineage, race, and ancestry,” said Vivaldo. +</p> +<p> +To which Don Quixote replied, “She is not of the ancient Roman Curtii, +Caii, or Scipios, nor of the modern Colonnas or Orsini, nor of the +Moncadas or Requesenes of Catalonia, nor yet of the Rebellas or Villanovas +of Valencia; Palafoxes, Nuzas, Rocabertis, Corellas, Lunas, Alagones, +Urreas, Foces, or Gurreas of Aragon; Cerdas, Manriques, Mendozas, or +Guzmans of Castile; Alencastros, Pallas, or Meneses of Portugal; but she +is of those of El Toboso of La Mancha, a lineage that though modern, may +furnish a source of gentle blood for the most illustrious families of the +ages that are to come, and this let none dispute with me save on the +condition that Zerbino placed at the foot of the trophy of Orlando’s arms, +saying, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +These let none move<br/> +Who dareth not his might with Roland prove.” +</p> + +<p> +“Although mine is of the Cachopins of Laredo,” said the traveller, “I will +not venture to compare it with that of El Toboso of La Mancha, though, to +tell the truth, no such surname has until now ever reached my ears.” +</p> +<p> +“What!” said Don Quixote, “has that never reached them?” +</p> +<p> +The rest of the party went along listening with great attention to the +conversation of the pair, and even the very goatherds and shepherds +perceived how exceedingly out of his wits our Don Quixote was. Sancho +Panza alone thought that what his master said was the truth, knowing who +he was and having known him from his birth; and all that he felt any +difficulty in believing was that about the fair Dulcinea del Toboso, +because neither any such name nor any such princess had ever come to his +knowledge though he lived so close to El Toboso. They were going along +conversing in this way, when they saw descending a gap between two high +mountains some twenty shepherds, all clad in sheepskins of black wool, and +crowned with garlands which, as afterwards appeared, were, some of them of +yew, some of cypress. Six of the number were carrying a bier covered with +a great variety of flowers and branches, on seeing which one of the +goatherds said, “Those who come there are the bearers of Chrysostom’s +body, and the foot of that mountain is the place where he ordered them to +bury him.” They therefore made haste to reach the spot, and did so by the +time those who came had laid the bier upon the ground, and four of them +with sharp pickaxes were digging a grave by the side of a hard rock. They +greeted each other courteously, and then Don Quixote and those who +accompanied him turned to examine the bier, and on it, covered with +flowers, they saw a dead body in the dress of a shepherd, to all +appearance of one thirty years of age, and showing even in death that in +life he had been of comely features and gallant bearing. Around him on the +bier itself were laid some books, and several papers open and folded; and +those who were looking on as well as those who were opening the grave and +all the others who were there preserved a strange silence, until one of +those who had borne the body said to another, “Observe carefully, Ambrosio +if this is the place Chrysostom spoke of, since you are anxious that what +he directed in his will should be so strictly complied with.” +</p> +<p> +“This is the place,” answered Ambrosio “for in it many a time did my poor +friend tell me the story of his hard fortune. Here it was, he told me, +that he saw for the first time that mortal enemy of the human race, and +here, too, for the first time he declared to her his passion, as +honourable as it was devoted, and here it was that at last Marcela ended +by scorning and rejecting him so as to bring the tragedy of his wretched +life to a close; here, in memory of misfortunes so great, he desired to be +laid in the bowels of eternal oblivion.” Then turning to Don Quixote and +the travellers he went on to say, “That body, sirs, on which you are +looking with compassionate eyes, was the abode of a soul on which Heaven +bestowed a vast share of its riches. That is the body of Chrysostom, who +was unrivalled in wit, unequalled in courtesy, unapproached in gentle +bearing, a phoenix in friendship, generous without limit, grave without +arrogance, gay without vulgarity, and, in short, first in all that +constitutes goodness and second to none in all that makes up misfortune. +He loved deeply, he was hated; he adored, he was scorned; he wooed a wild +beast, he pleaded with marble, he pursued the wind, he cried to the +wilderness, he served ingratitude, and for reward was made the prey of +death in the mid-course of life, cut short by a shepherdess whom he sought +to immortalise in the memory of man, as these papers which you see could +fully prove, had he not commanded me to consign them to the fire after +having consigned his body to the earth.” +</p> +<p> +“You would deal with them more harshly and cruelly than their owner +himself,” said Vivaldo, “for it is neither right nor proper to do the will +of one who enjoins what is wholly unreasonable; it would not have been +reasonable in Augustus Caesar had he permitted the directions left by the +divine Mantuan in his will to be carried into effect. So that, Señor +Ambrosio while you consign your friend’s body to the earth, you should not +consign his writings to oblivion, for if he gave the order in bitterness +of heart, it is not right that you should irrationally obey it. On the +contrary, by granting life to those papers, let the cruelty of Marcela +live for ever, to serve as a warning in ages to come to all men to shun +and avoid falling into like danger; or I and all of us who have come here +know already the story of this your love-stricken and heart-broken friend, +and we know, too, your friendship, and the cause of his death, and the +directions he gave at the close of his life; from which sad story may be +gathered how great was the cruelty of Marcela, the love of Chrysostom, and +the loyalty of your friendship, together with the end awaiting those who +pursue rashly the path that insane passion opens to their eyes. Last night +we learned the death of Chrysostom and that he was to be buried here, and +out of curiosity and pity we left our direct road and resolved to come and +see with our eyes that which when heard of had so moved our compassion, +and in consideration of that compassion and our desire to prove it if we +might by condolence, we beg of you, excellent Ambrosio, or at least I on +my own account entreat you, that instead of burning those papers you allow +me to carry away some of them.” +</p> +<p> +And without waiting for the shepherd’s answer, he stretched out his hand +and took up some of those that were nearest to him; seeing which Ambrosio +said, “Out of courtesy, señor, I will grant your request as to those you +have taken, but it is idle to expect me to abstain from burning the +remainder.” +</p> +<p> +Vivaldo, who was eager to see what the papers contained, opened one of +them at once, and saw that its title was “Lay of Despair.” +</p> +<p> +Ambrosio hearing it said, “That is the last paper the unhappy man wrote; +and that you may see, señor, to what an end his misfortunes brought him, +read it so that you may be heard, for you will have time enough for that +while we are waiting for the grave to be dug.” +</p> +<p> +“I will do so very willingly,” said Vivaldo; and as all the bystanders +were equally eager they gathered round him, and he, reading in a loud +voice, found that it ran as follows. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c13e" id="c13e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c13e.jpg (15K)" src="images/c13e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch14" id="ch14"></a>CHAPTER XIV. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHEREIN ARE INSERTED THE DESPAIRING VERSES OF THE DEAD SHEPHERD, TOGETHER +WITH OTHER INCIDENTS NOT LOOKED FOR +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c14a" id="c14a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c14a.jpg (172K)" src="images/c14a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c14a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE LAY OF CHRYSOSTOM + +Since thou dost in thy cruelty desire +The ruthless rigour of thy tyranny +From tongue to tongue, from land to land proclaimed, +The very Hell will I constrain to lend +This stricken breast of mine deep notes of woe +To serve my need of fitting utterance. +And as I strive to body forth the tale +Of all I suffer, all that thou hast done, +Forth shall the dread voice roll, and bear along +Shreds from my vitals torn for greater pain. +Then listen, not to dulcet harmony, +But to a discord wrung by mad despair +Out of this bosom’s depths of bitterness, +To ease my heart and plant a sting in thine. + +The lion’s roar, the fierce wolf’s savage howl, +The horrid hissing of the scaly snake, +The awesome cries of monsters yet unnamed, +The crow’s ill-boding croak, the hollow moan +Of wild winds wrestling with the restless sea, +The wrathful bellow of the vanquished bull, +The plaintive sobbing of the widowed dove, +The envied owl’s sad note, the wail of woe +That rises from the dreary choir of Hell, +Commingled in one sound, confusing sense, +Let all these come to aid my soul’s complaint, +For pain like mine demands new modes of song. + +No echoes of that discord shall be heard +Where Father Tagus rolls, or on the banks +Of olive-bordered Betis; to the rocks +Or in deep caverns shall my plaint be told, +And by a lifeless tongue in living words; +Or in dark valleys or on lonely shores, +Where neither foot of man nor sunbeam falls; +Or in among the poison-breathing swarms +Of monsters nourished by the sluggish Nile. +For, though it be to solitudes remote +The hoarse vague echoes of my sorrows sound +Thy matchless cruelty, my dismal fate +Shall carry them to all the spacious world. + +Disdain hath power to kill, and patience dies +Slain by suspicion, be it false or true; +And deadly is the force of jealousy; +Long absence makes of life a dreary void; +No hope of happiness can give repose +To him that ever fears to be forgot; +And death, inevitable, waits in hall. +But I, by some strange miracle, live on +A prey to absence, jealousy, disdain; +Racked by suspicion as by certainty; +Forgotten, left to feed my flame alone. +And while I suffer thus, there comes no ray +Of hope to gladden me athwart the gloom; +Nor do I look for it in my despair; +But rather clinging to a cureless woe, +All hope do I abjure for evermore. + +Can there be hope where fear is? Were it well, +When far more certain are the grounds of fear? +Ought I to shut mine eyes to jealousy, +If through a thousand heart-wounds it appears? +Who would not give free access to distrust, +Seeing disdain unveiled, and—bitter change!— +All his suspicions turned to certainties, +And the fair truth transformed into a lie? +Oh, thou fierce tyrant of the realms of love, +Oh, Jealousy! put chains upon these hands, +And bind me with thy strongest cord, Disdain. +But, woe is me! triumphant over all, +My sufferings drown the memory of you. + +And now I die, and since there is no hope +Of happiness for me in life or death, +Still to my fantasy I’ll fondly cling. +I’ll say that he is wise who loveth well, +And that the soul most free is that most bound +In thraldom to the ancient tyrant Love. +I’ll say that she who is mine enemy +In that fair body hath as fair a mind, +And that her coldness is but my desert, +And that by virtue of the pain he sends +Love rules his kingdom with a gentle sway. +Thus, self-deluding, and in bondage sore, +And wearing out the wretched shred of life +To which I am reduced by her disdain, +I’ll give this soul and body to the winds, +All hopeless of a crown of bliss in store. + +Thou whose injustice hath supplied the cause +That makes me quit the weary life I loathe, +As by this wounded bosom thou canst see +How willingly thy victim I become, +Let not my death, if haply worth a tear, +Cloud the clear heaven that dwells in thy bright eyes; +I would not have thee expiate in aught +The crime of having made my heart thy prey; +But rather let thy laughter gaily ring +And prove my death to be thy festival. +Fool that I am to bid thee! well I know +Thy glory gains by my untimely end. + +And now it is the time; from Hell’s abyss +Come thirsting Tantalus, come Sisyphus +Heaving the cruel stone, come Tityus +With vulture, and with wheel Ixion come, +And come the sisters of the ceaseless toil; +And all into this breast transfer their pains, +And (if such tribute to despair be due) +Chant in their deepest tones a doleful dirge +Over a corse unworthy of a shroud. +Let the three-headed guardian of the gate, +And all the monstrous progeny of hell, +The doleful concert join: a lover dead +Methinks can have no fitter obsequies. + +Lay of despair, grieve not when thou art gone +Forth from this sorrowing heart: my misery +Brings fortune to the cause that gave thee birth; +Then banish sadness even in the tomb. + +</pre> +<p> +The “Lay of Chrysostom” met with the approbation of the listeners, though +the reader said it did not seem to him to agree with what he had heard of +Marcela’s reserve and propriety, for Chrysostom complained in it of +jealousy, suspicion, and absence, all to the prejudice of the good name +and fame of Marcela; to which Ambrosio replied as one who knew well his +friend’s most secret thoughts, “Señor, to remove that doubt I should tell +you that when the unhappy man wrote this lay he was away from Marcela, +from whom he had voluntarily separated himself, to try if absence would +act with him as it is wont; and as everything distresses and every fear +haunts the banished lover, so imaginary jealousies and suspicions, dreaded +as if they were true, tormented Chrysostom; and thus the truth of what +report declares of the virtue of Marcela remains unshaken, and with her +envy itself should not and cannot find any fault save that of being cruel, +somewhat haughty, and very scornful.” +</p> +<p> +“That is true,” said Vivaldo; and as he was about to read another paper of +those he had preserved from the fire, he was stopped by a marvellous +vision (for such it seemed) that unexpectedly presented itself to their +eyes; for on the summit of the rock where they were digging the grave +there appeared the shepherdess Marcela, so beautiful that her beauty +exceeded its reputation. Those who had never till then beheld her gazed +upon her in wonder and silence, and those who were accustomed to see her +were not less amazed than those who had never seen her before. But the +instant Ambrosio saw her he addressed her, with manifest indignation: +</p> +<p> +“Art thou come, by chance, cruel basilisk of these mountains, to see if in +thy presence blood will flow from the wounds of this wretched being thy +cruelty has robbed of life; or is it to exult over the cruel work of thy +humours that thou art come; or like another pitiless Nero to look down +from that height upon the ruin of his Rome in embers; or in thy arrogance +to trample on this ill-fated corpse, as the ungrateful daughter trampled +on her father Tarquin’s? Tell us quickly for what thou art come, or what +it is thou wouldst have, for, as I know the thoughts of Chrysostom never +failed to obey thee in life, I will make all these who call themselves his +friends obey thee, though he be dead.” +</p> +<p> +“I come not, Ambrosio for any of the purposes thou hast named,” +replied Marcela, “but to defend myself and to prove how unreasonable are +all those who blame me for their sorrow and for Chrysostom’s death; and +therefore I ask all of you that are here to give me your attention, for it will +not take much time or many words to bring the truth home to persons of sense. +Heaven has made me, so you say, beautiful, and so much so that in spite of +yourselves my beauty leads you to love me; and for the love you show me you +say, and even urge, that I am bound to love you. By that natural understanding +which God has given me I know that everything beautiful attracts love, but I +cannot see how, by reason of being loved, that which is loved for its beauty is +bound to love that which loves it; besides, it may happen that the lover of +that which is beautiful may be ugly, and ugliness being detestable, it is very +absurd to say, “I love thee because thou art beautiful, thou must love me +though I be ugly.” But supposing the beauty equal on both sides, it does +not follow that the inclinations must be therefore alike, for it is not every +beauty that excites love, some but pleasing the eye without winning the +affection; and if every sort of beauty excited love and won the heart, the will +would wander vaguely to and fro unable to make choice of any; for as there is +an infinity of beautiful objects there must be an infinity of inclinations, and +true love, I have heard it said, is indivisible, and must be voluntary and not +compelled. If this be so, as I believe it to be, why do you desire me to bend +my will by force, for no other reason but that you say you love me? +Nay—tell me—had Heaven made me ugly, as it has made me beautiful, +could I with justice complain of you for not loving me? Moreover, you must +remember that the beauty I possess was no choice of mine, for, be it what it +may, Heaven of its bounty gave it me without my asking or choosing it; and as +the viper, though it kills with it, does not deserve to be blamed for the +poison it carries, as it is a gift of nature, neither do I deserve reproach for +being beautiful; for beauty in a modest woman is like fire at a distance or a +sharp sword; the one does not burn, the other does not cut, those who do not +come too near. Honour and virtue are the ornaments of the mind, without which +the body, though it be so, has no right to pass for beautiful; but if modesty +is one of the virtues that specially lend a grace and charm to mind and body, +why should she who is loved for her beauty part with it to gratify one who for +his pleasure alone strives with all his might and energy to rob her of it? I +was born free, and that I might live in freedom I chose the solitude of the +fields; in the trees of the mountains I find society, the clear waters of the +brooks are my mirrors, and to the trees and waters I make known my thoughts and +charms. I am a fire afar off, a sword laid aside. Those whom I have inspired +with love by letting them see me, I have by words undeceived, and if their +longings live on hope—and I have given none to Chrysostom or to any +other—it cannot justly be said that the death of any is my doing, for it +was rather his own obstinacy than my cruelty that killed him; and if it be made +a charge against me that his wishes were honourable, and that therefore I was +bound to yield to them, I answer that when on this very spot where now his +grave is made he declared to me his purity of purpose, I told him that mine was +to live in perpetual solitude, and that the earth alone should enjoy the fruits +of my retirement and the spoils of my beauty; and if, after this open avowal, +he chose to persist against hope and steer against the wind, what wonder is it +that he should sink in the depths of his infatuation? If I had encouraged him, +I should be false; if I had gratified him, I should have acted against my own +better resolution and purpose. He was persistent in spite of warning, he +despaired without being hated. Bethink you now if it be reasonable that his +suffering should be laid to my charge. Let him who has been deceived complain, +let him give way to despair whose encouraged hopes have proved vain, let him +flatter himself whom I shall entice, let him boast whom I shall receive; but +let not him call me cruel or homicide to whom I make no promise, upon whom I +practise no deception, whom I neither entice nor receive. It has not been so +far the will of Heaven that I should love by fate, and to expect me to love by +choice is idle. Let this general declaration serve for each of my suitors on +his own account, and let it be understood from this time forth that if anyone +dies for me it is not of jealousy or misery he dies, for she who loves no one +can give no cause for jealousy to any, and candour is not to be confounded with +scorn. Let him who calls me wild beast and basilisk, leave me alone as +something noxious and evil; let him who calls me ungrateful, withhold his +service; who calls me wayward, seek not my acquaintance; who calls me cruel, +pursue me not; for this wild beast, this basilisk, this ungrateful, cruel, +wayward being has no kind of desire to seek, serve, know, or follow them. If +Chrysostom’s impatience and violent passion killed him, why should my +modest behaviour and circumspection be blamed? If I preserve my purity in the +society of the trees, why should he who would have me preserve it among men, +seek to rob me of it? I have, as you know, wealth of my own, and I covet not +that of others; my taste is for freedom, and I have no relish for constraint; I +neither love nor hate anyone; I do not deceive this one or court that, or +trifle with one or play with another. The modest converse of the shepherd girls +of these hamlets and the care of my goats are my recreations; my desires are +bounded by these mountains, and if they ever wander hence it is to contemplate +the beauty of the heavens, steps by which the soul travels to its primeval +abode.” +</p> +<p> +With these words, and not waiting to hear a reply, she turned and passed +into the thickest part of a wood that was hard by, leaving all who were +there lost in admiration as much of her good sense as of her beauty. Some—those +wounded by the irresistible shafts launched by her bright eyes—made +as though they would follow her, heedless of the frank declaration they +had heard; seeing which, and deeming this a fitting occasion for the +exercise of his chivalry in aid of distressed damsels, Don Quixote, laying +his hand on the hilt of his sword, exclaimed in a loud and distinct voice: +</p> +<p> +“Let no one, whatever his rank or condition, dare to follow the beautiful +Marcela, under pain of incurring my fierce indignation. She has shown by +clear and satisfactory arguments that little or no fault is to be found +with her for the death of Chrysostom, and also how far she is from +yielding to the wishes of any of her lovers, for which reason, instead of +being followed and persecuted, she should in justice be honoured and +esteemed by all the good people of the world, for she shows that she is +the only woman in it that holds to such a virtuous resolution.” +</p> +<p> +Whether it was because of the threats of Don Quixote, or because Ambrosio +told them to fulfil their duty to their good friend, none of the shepherds +moved or stirred from the spot until, having finished the grave and burned +Chrysostom’s papers, they laid his body in it, not without many tears from +those who stood by. They closed the grave with a heavy stone until a slab +was ready which Ambrosio said he meant to have prepared, with an epitaph +which was to be to this effect: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Beneath the stone before your eyes +The body of a lover lies; +In life he was a shepherd swain, +In death a victim to disdain. +Ungrateful, cruel, coy, and fair, +Was she that drove him to despair, +And Love hath made her his ally +For spreading wide his tyranny. +</pre> +<p> +They then strewed upon the grave a profusion of flowers and branches, and +all expressing their condolence with his friend Ambrosio, took their +Vivaldo and his companion did the same; and Don Quixote bade farewell to +his hosts and to the travellers, who pressed him to come with them to +Seville, as being such a convenient place for finding adventures, for they +presented themselves in every street and round every corner oftener than +anywhere else. Don Quixote thanked them for their advice and for the +disposition they showed to do him a favour, and said that for the present +he would not, and must not go to Seville until he had cleared all these +mountains of highwaymen and robbers, of whom report said they were full. +Seeing his good intention, the travellers were unwilling to press him +further, and once more bidding him farewell, they left him and pursued +their journey, in the course of which they did not fail to discuss the +story of Marcela and Chrysostom as well as the madness of Don Quixote. He, +on his part, resolved to go in quest of the shepherdess Marcela, and make +offer to her of all the service he could render her; but things did not +fall out with him as he expected, according to what is related in the +course of this veracious history, of which the Second Part ends here. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c14e" id="c14e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c14e.jpg (31K)" src="images/c14e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch15" id="ch15"></a>CHAPTER XV. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH IS RELATED THE UNFORTUNATE ADVENTURE THAT DON QUIXOTE FELL IN +WITH WHEN HE FELL OUT WITH CERTAIN HEARTLESS YANGUESANS +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c15a" id="c15a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c15a.jpg (81K)" src="images/c15a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c15a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +The sage Cid Hamete Benengeli relates that as soon as Don Quixote took +leave of his hosts and all who had been present at the burial of +Chrysostom, he and his squire passed into the same wood which they had +seen the shepherdess Marcela enter, and after having wandered for more +than two hours in all directions in search of her without finding her, +they came to a halt in a glade covered with tender grass, beside which ran +a pleasant cool stream that invited and compelled them to pass there the +hours of the noontide heat, which by this time was beginning to come on +oppressively. Don Quixote and Sancho dismounted, and turning Rocinante and +the ass loose to feed on the grass that was there in abundance, they +ransacked the alforjas, and without any ceremony very peacefully and +sociably master and man made their repast on what they found in them. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c15b" id="c15b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c15b.jpg (376K)" src="images/c15b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c15b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Sancho had not thought it worth while to hobble Rocinante, feeling sure, +from what he knew of his staidness and freedom from incontinence, that all +the mares in the Cordova pastures would not lead him into an impropriety. +Chance, however, and the devil, who is not always asleep, so ordained it +that feeding in this valley there was a drove of Galician ponies belonging +to certain Yanguesan carriers, whose way it is to take their midday rest +with their teams in places and spots where grass and water abound; and +that where Don Quixote chanced to be suited the Yanguesans’ purpose very +well. It so happened, then, that Rocinante took a fancy to disport himself +with their ladyships the ponies, and abandoning his usual gait and +demeanour as he scented them, he, without asking leave of his master, got +up a briskish little trot and hastened to make known his wishes to them; +they, however, it seemed, preferred their pasture to him, and received him +with their heels and teeth to such effect that they soon broke his girths +and left him naked without a saddle to cover him; but what must have been +worse to him was that the carriers, seeing the violence he was offering to +their mares, came running up armed with stakes, and so belaboured him that +they brought him sorely battered to the ground. +</p> +<p> +By this time Don Quixote and Sancho, who had witnessed the drubbing of +Rocinante, came up panting, and said Don Quixote to Sancho: +</p> +<p> +“So far as I can see, friend Sancho, these are not knights but base folk +of low birth: I mention it because thou canst lawfully aid me in taking +due vengeance for the insult offered to Rocinante before our eyes.” +</p> +<p> +“What the devil vengeance can we take,” answered Sancho, “if they are more +than twenty, and we no more than two, or, indeed, perhaps not more than +one and a half?” +</p> +<p> +“I count for a hundred,” replied Don Quixote, and without more words he +drew his sword and attacked the Yanguesans and excited and impelled by the +example of his master, Sancho did the same; and to begin with, Don Quixote +delivered a slash at one of them that laid open the leather jerkin he +wore, together with a great portion of his shoulder. The Yanguesans, +seeing themselves assaulted by only two men while they were so many, +betook themselves to their stakes, and driving the two into the middle +they began to lay on with great zeal and energy; in fact, at the second +blow they brought Sancho to the ground, and Don Quixote fared the same +way, all his skill and high mettle availing him nothing, and fate willed +it that he should fall at the feet of Rocinante, who had not yet risen; +whereby it may be seen how furiously stakes can pound in angry boorish +hands. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c15c" id="c15c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c15c.jpg (362K)" src="images/c15c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c15c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Then, seeing the mischief they had done, the Yanguesans with all the haste +they could loaded their team and pursued their journey, leaving the two +adventurers a sorry sight and in sorrier mood. +</p> +<p> +Sancho was the first to come to, and finding himself close to his master +he called to him in a weak and doleful voice, “Señor Don Quixote, ah, +Señor Don Quixote!” +</p> +<p> +“What wouldst thou, brother Sancho?” answered Don Quixote in the same +feeble suffering tone as Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“I would like, if it were possible,” answered Sancho Panza, “your worship +to give me a couple of sups of that potion of the fiery Blas, if it be +that you have any to hand there; perhaps it will serve for broken bones as +well as for wounds.” +</p> +<p> +“If I only had it here, wretch that I am, what more should we want?” said +Don Quixote; “but I swear to thee, Sancho Panza, on the faith of a +knight-errant, ere two days are over, unless fortune orders otherwise, I +mean to have it in my possession, or my hand will have lost its cunning.” +</p> +<p> +“But in how many does your worship think we shall have the use of our +feet?” answered Sancho Panza. +</p> +<p> +“For myself I must say I cannot guess how many,” said the battered +knight Don Quixote; “but I take all the blame upon myself, for I had no +business to put hand to sword against men who where not dubbed knights like +myself, and so I believe that in punishment for having transgressed the laws of +chivalry the God of battles has permitted this chastisement to be administered +to me; for which reason, brother Sancho, it is well thou shouldst receive a +hint on the matter which I am now about to mention to thee, for it is of much +importance to the welfare of both of us. It is that when thou shalt see rabble +of this sort offering us insult thou art not to wait till I draw sword against +them, for I shall not do so at all; but do thou draw sword and chastise them to +thy heart’s content, and if any knights come to their aid and defence I +will take care to defend thee and assail them with all my might; and thou hast +already seen by a thousand signs and proofs what the might of this strong arm +of mine is equal to”—so uplifted had the poor gentleman become +through the victory over the stout Biscayan. +</p> +<p> +But Sancho did not so fully approve of his master’s admonition as to let +it pass without saying in reply, “Señor, I am a man of peace, meek and +quiet, and I can put up with any affront because I have a wife and +children to support and bring up; so let it be likewise a hint to your +worship, as it cannot be a mandate, that on no account will I draw sword +either against clown or against knight, and that here before God I forgive +the insults that have been offered me, whether they have been, are, or +shall be offered me by high or low, rich or poor, noble or commoner, not +excepting any rank or condition whatsoever.” +</p> +<p> +To all which his master said in reply, “I wish I had breath enough to +speak somewhat easily, and that the pain I feel on this side would abate +so as to let me explain to thee, Panza, the mistake thou makest. Come now, +sinner, suppose the wind of fortune, hitherto so adverse, should turn in +our favour, filling the sails of our desires so that safely and without +impediment we put into port in some one of those islands I have promised +thee, how would it be with thee if on winning it I made thee lord of it? +Why, thou wilt make it well-nigh impossible through not being a knight nor +having any desire to be one, nor possessing the courage nor the will to +avenge insults or defend thy lordship; for thou must know that in newly +conquered kingdoms and provinces the minds of the inhabitants are never so +quiet nor so well disposed to the new lord that there is no fear of their +making some move to change matters once more, and try, as they say, what +chance may do for them; so it is essential that the new possessor should +have good sense to enable him to govern, and valour to attack and defend +himself, whatever may befall him.” +</p> +<p> +“In what has now befallen us,” answered Sancho, “I’d have been well +pleased to have that good sense and that valour your worship speaks of, +but I swear on the faith of a poor man I am more fit for plasters than for +arguments. See if your worship can get up, and let us help Rocinante, +though he does not deserve it, for he was the main cause of all this +thrashing. I never thought it of Rocinante, for I took him to be a +virtuous person and as quiet as myself. After all, they say right that it +takes a long time to come to know people, and that there is nothing sure +in this life. Who would have said that, after such mighty slashes as your +worship gave that unlucky knight-errant, there was coming, travelling post +and at the very heels of them, such a great storm of sticks as has fallen +upon our shoulders?” +</p> +<p> +“And yet thine, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “ought to be used to such +squalls; but mine, reared in soft cloth and fine linen, it is plain they +must feel more keenly the pain of this mishap, and if it were not that I +imagine—why do I say imagine?—know of a certainty that all +these annoyances are very necessary accompaniments of the calling of arms, +I would lay me down here to die of pure vexation.” +</p> +<p> +To this the squire replied, “Señor, as these mishaps are what one reaps of +chivalry, tell me if they happen very often, or if they have their own +fixed times for coming to pass; because it seems to me that after two +harvests we shall be no good for the third, unless God in his infinite +mercy helps us.” +</p> +<p> +“Know, friend Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “that the life of +knights-errant is subject to a thousand dangers and reverses, and neither +more nor less is it within immediate possibility for knights-errant to +become kings and emperors, as experience has shown in the case of many +different knights with whose histories I am thoroughly acquainted; and I +could tell thee now, if the pain would let me, of some who simply by might +of arm have risen to the high stations I have mentioned; and those same, +both before and after, experienced divers misfortunes and miseries; for +the valiant Amadis of Gaul found himself in the power of his mortal enemy +Arcalaus the magician, who, it is positively asserted, holding him +captive, gave him more than two hundred lashes with the reins of his horse +while tied to one of the pillars of a court; and moreover there is a +certain recondite author of no small authority who says that the Knight of +Phoebus, being caught in a certain pitfall, which opened under his feet in +a certain castle, on falling found himself bound hand and foot in a deep +pit underground, where they administered to him one of those things they +call clysters, of sand and snow-water, that well-nigh finished him; and if +he had not been succoured in that sore extremity by a sage, a great friend +of his, it would have gone very hard with the poor knight; so I may well +suffer in company with such worthy folk, for greater were the indignities +which they had to suffer than those which we suffer. For I would have thee +know, Sancho, that wounds caused by any instruments which happen by chance +to be in hand inflict no indignity, and this is laid down in the law of +the duel in express words: if, for instance, the cobbler strikes another +with the last which he has in his hand, though it be in fact a piece of +wood, it cannot be said for that reason that he whom he struck with it has +been cudgelled. I say this lest thou shouldst imagine that because we have +been drubbed in this affray we have therefore suffered any indignity; for +the arms those men carried, with which they pounded us, were nothing more +than their stakes, and not one of them, so far as I remember, carried +rapier, sword, or dagger.” +</p> +<p> +“They gave me no time to see that much,” answered Sancho, “for hardly had +I laid hand on my tizona when they signed the cross on my shoulders with +their sticks in such style that they took the sight out of my eyes and the +strength out of my feet, stretching me where I now lie, and where thinking +of whether all those stake-strokes were an indignity or not gives me no +uneasiness, which the pain of the blows does, for they will remain as +deeply impressed on my memory as on my shoulders.” +</p> +<p> +“For all that let me tell thee, brother Panza,” said Don Quixote, “that +there is no recollection which time does not put an end to, and no pain +which death does not remove.” +</p> +<p> +“And what greater misfortune can there be,” replied Panza, “than the one +that waits for time to put an end to it and death to remove it? If our +mishap were one of those that are cured with a couple of plasters, it +would not be so bad; but I am beginning to think that all the plasters in +a hospital almost won’t be enough to put us right.” +</p> +<p> +“No more of that: pluck strength out of weakness, Sancho, as I mean to +do,” returned Don Quixote, “and let us see how Rocinante is, for it seems +to me that not the least share of this mishap has fallen to the lot of the +poor beast.” +</p> +<p> +“There is nothing wonderful in that,” replied Sancho, “since he is a +knight-errant too; what I wonder at is that my beast should have come off +scot-free where we come out scotched.” +</p> +<p> +“Fortune always leaves a door open in adversity in order to bring relief +to it,” said Don Quixote; “I say so because this little beast may now +supply the want of Rocinante, carrying me hence to some castle where I may +be cured of my wounds. And moreover I shall not hold it any dishonour to +be so mounted, for I remember having read how the good old Silenus, the +tutor and instructor of the gay god of laughter, when he entered the city +of the hundred gates, went very contentedly mounted on a handsome ass.” +</p> +<p> +“It may be true that he went mounted as your worship says,” answered +Sancho, “but there is a great difference between going mounted and going +slung like a sack of manure.” +</p> +<p> +To which Don Quixote replied, “Wounds received in battle confer honour +instead of taking it away; and so, friend Panza, say no more, but, as I +told thee before, get up as well as thou canst and put me on top of thy +beast in whatever fashion pleases thee best, and let us go hence ere night +come on and surprise us in these wilds.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet I have heard your worship say,” observed Panza, “that it is very +meet for knights-errant to sleep in wastes and deserts, and that they +esteem it very good fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“That is,” said Don Quixote, “when they cannot help it, or when they are +in love; and so true is this that there have been knights who have +remained two years on rocks, in sunshine and shade and all the +inclemencies of heaven, without their ladies knowing anything of it; and +one of these was Amadis, when, under the name of Beltenebros, he took up +his abode on the Pena Pobre for—I know not if it was eight years or +eight months, for I am not very sure of the reckoning; at any rate he +stayed there doing penance for I know not what pique the Princess Oriana +had against him; but no more of this now, Sancho, and make haste before a +mishap like Rocinante’s befalls the ass.” +</p> +<p> +“The very devil would be in it in that case,” said Sancho; and letting off +thirty “ohs,” and sixty sighs, and a hundred and twenty maledictions and +execrations on whomsoever it was that had brought him there, he raised +himself, stopping half-way bent like a Turkish bow without power to bring +himself upright, but with all his pains he saddled his ass, who too had +gone astray somewhat, yielding to the excessive licence of the day; he +next raised up Rocinante, and as for him, had he possessed a tongue to +complain with, most assuredly neither Sancho nor his master would have +been behind him. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c15d" id="c15d"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c15d.jpg (329K)" src="images/c15d.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c15d.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +To be brief, Sancho fixed Don Quixote on the ass and secured Rocinante +with a leading rein, and taking the ass by the halter, he proceeded more +or less in the direction in which it seemed to him the high road might be; +and, as chance was conducting their affairs for them from good to better, +he had not gone a short league when the road came in sight, and on it he +perceived an inn, which to his annoyance and to the delight of Don Quixote +must needs be a castle. Sancho insisted that it was an inn, and his master +that it was not one, but a castle, and the dispute lasted so long that +before the point was settled they had time to reach it, and into it Sancho +entered with all his team without any further controversy. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c15e" id="c15e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c15e.jpg (31K)" src="images/c15e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch16" id="ch16"></a>CHAPTER XVI. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF WHAT HAPPENED TO THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN IN THE INN WHICH HE TOOK TO BE +A CASTLE +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c16a" id="c16a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c16a.jpg (129K)" src="images/c16a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c16a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +The innkeeper, seeing Don Quixote slung across the ass, asked Sancho what +was amiss with him. Sancho answered that it was nothing, only that he had +fallen down from a rock and had his ribs a little bruised. The innkeeper +had a wife whose disposition was not such as those of her calling commonly +have, for she was by nature kind-hearted and felt for the sufferings of +her neighbours, so she at once set about tending Don Quixote, and made her +young daughter, a very comely girl, help her in taking care of her guest. +There was besides in the inn, as servant, an Asturian lass with a broad +face, flat poll, and snub nose, blind of one eye and not very sound in the +other. The elegance of her shape, to be sure, made up for all her defects; +she did not measure seven palms from head to foot, and her shoulders, +which overweighted her somewhat, made her contemplate the ground more than +she liked. This graceful lass, then, helped the young girl, and the two +made up a very bad bed for Don Quixote in a garret that showed evident +signs of having formerly served for many years as a straw-loft, in which +there was also quartered a carrier whose bed was placed a little beyond +our Don Quixote’s, and, though only made of the pack-saddles and cloths of +his mules, had much the advantage of it, as Don Quixote’s consisted simply +of four rough boards on two not very even trestles, a mattress, that for +thinness might have passed for a quilt, full of pellets which, were they +not seen through the rents to be wool, would to the touch have seemed +pebbles in hardness, two sheets made of buckler leather, and a coverlet +the threads of which anyone that chose might have counted without missing +one in the reckoning. +</p> +<p> +On this accursed bed Don Quixote stretched himself, and the hostess and +her daughter soon covered him with plasters from top to toe, while +Maritornes—for that was the name of the Asturian—held the +light for them, and while plastering him, the hostess, observing how full +of wheals Don Quixote was in some places, remarked that this had more the +look of blows than of a fall. +</p> +<p> +It was not blows, Sancho said, but that the rock had many points and +projections, and that each of them had left its mark. “Pray, señora,” he +added, “manage to save some tow, as there will be no want of some one to +use it, for my loins too are rather sore.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you must have fallen too,” said the hostess. +</p> +<p> +“I did not fall,” said Sancho Panza, “but from the shock I got at seeing +my master fall, my body aches so that I feel as if I had had a thousand +thwacks.” +</p> +<p> +“That may well be,” said the young girl, “for it has many a time happened +to me to dream that I was falling down from a tower and never coming to +the ground, and when I awoke from the dream to find myself as weak and +shaken as if I had really fallen.” +</p> +<p> +“There is the point, señora,” replied Sancho Panza, “that I without +dreaming at all, but being more awake than I am now, find myself with +scarcely less wheals than my master, Don Quixote.” +</p> +<p> +“How is the gentleman called?” asked Maritornes the Asturian. +</p> +<p> +“Don Quixote of La Mancha,” answered Sancho Panza, “and he is a +knight-adventurer, and one of the best and stoutest that have been seen in +the world this long time past.” +</p> +<p> +“What is a knight-adventurer?” said the lass. +</p> +<p> +“Are you so new in the world as not to know?” answered Sancho Panza. +“Well, then, you must know, sister, that a knight-adventurer is a thing +that in two words is seen drubbed and emperor, that is to-day the most +miserable and needy being in the world, and to-morrow will have two or +three crowns of kingdoms to give his squire.” +</p> +<p> +“Then how is it,” said the hostess, “that belonging to so good a master as +this, you have not, to judge by appearances, even so much as a county?” +</p> +<p> +“It is too soon yet,” answered Sancho, “for we have only been a month +going in quest of adventures, and so far we have met with nothing that can +be called one, for it will happen that when one thing is looked for +another thing is found; however, if my master Don Quixote gets well of +this wound, or fall, and I am left none the worse of it, I would not +change my hopes for the best title in Spain.” +</p> +<p> +To all this conversation Don Quixote was listening very attentively, and +sitting up in bed as well as he could, and taking the hostess by the hand +he said to her, “Believe me, fair lady, you may call yourself fortunate in +having in this castle of yours sheltered my person, which is such that if +I do not myself praise it, it is because of what is commonly said, that +self-praise debaseth; but my squire will inform you who I am. I only tell +you that I shall preserve for ever inscribed on my memory the service you +have rendered me in order to tender you my gratitude while life shall last +me; and would to Heaven love held me not so enthralled and subject to its +laws and to the eyes of that fair ingrate whom I name between my teeth, +but that those of this lovely damsel might be the masters of my liberty.” +</p> +<p> +The hostess, her daughter, and the worthy Maritornes listened in +bewilderment to the words of the knight-errant; for they understood about +as much of them as if he had been talking Greek, though they could +perceive they were all meant for expressions of good-will and +blandishments; and not being accustomed to this kind of language, they +stared at him and wondered to themselves, for he seemed to them a man of a +different sort from those they were used to, and thanking him in pothouse +phrase for his civility they left him, while the Asturian gave her +attention to Sancho, who needed it no less than his master. +</p> +<p> +The carrier had made an arrangement with her for recreation that night, +and she had given him her word that when the guests were quiet and the +family asleep she would come in search of him and meet his wishes +unreservedly. And it is said of this good lass that she never made +promises of the kind without fulfilling them, even though she made them in +a forest and without any witness present, for she plumed herself greatly +on being a lady and held it no disgrace to be in such an employment as +servant in an inn, because, she said, misfortunes and ill-luck had brought +her to that position. The hard, narrow, wretched, rickety bed of Don +Quixote stood first in the middle of this star-lit stable, and close +beside it Sancho made his, which merely consisted of a rush mat and a +blanket that looked as if it was of threadbare canvas rather than of wool. +Next to these two beds was that of the carrier, made up, as has been said, +of the pack-saddles and all the trappings of the two best mules he had, +though there were twelve of them, sleek, plump, and in prime condition, +for he was one of the rich carriers of Arevalo, according to the author of +this history, who particularly mentions this carrier because he knew him +very well, and they even say was in some degree a relation of his; besides +which Cid Hamete Benengeli was a historian of great research and accuracy +in all things, as is very evident since he would not pass over in silence +those that have been already mentioned, however trifling and insignificant +they might be, an example that might be followed by those grave historians +who relate transactions so curtly and briefly that we hardly get a taste +of them, all the substance of the work being left in the inkstand from +carelessness, perverseness, or ignorance. A thousand blessings on the +author of “Tablante de Ricamonte” and that of the other book in which the +deeds of the Conde Tomillas are recounted; with what minuteness they +describe everything! +</p> +<p> +To proceed, then: after having paid a visit to his team and given them +their second feed, the carrier stretched himself on his pack-saddles and +lay waiting for his conscientious Maritornes. Sancho was by this time +plastered and had lain down, and though he strove to sleep the pain of his +ribs would not let him, while Don Quixote with the pain of his had his +eyes as wide open as a hare’s. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c16b" id="c16b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c16b.jpg (333K)" src="images/c16b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c16b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +The inn was all in silence, and in the whole of it there was no light +except that given by a lantern that hung burning in the middle of the +gateway. This strange stillness, and the thoughts, always present to our +knight’s mind, of the incidents described at every turn in the books that +were the cause of his misfortune, conjured up to his imagination as +extraordinary a delusion as can well be conceived, which was that he +fancied himself to have reached a famous castle (for, as has been said, +all the inns he lodged in were castles to his eyes), and that the daughter +of the innkeeper was daughter of the lord of the castle, and that she, won +by his high-bred bearing, had fallen in love with him, and had promised to +come to his bed for a while that night without the knowledge of her +parents; and holding all this fantasy that he had constructed as solid +fact, he began to feel uneasy and to consider the perilous risk which his +virtue was about to encounter, and he resolved in his heart to commit no +treason to his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, even though the queen Guinevere +herself and the dame Quintanona should present themselves before him. +</p> +<p> +While he was taken up with these vagaries, then, the time and the hour—an +unlucky one for him—arrived for the Asturian to come, who in her +smock, with bare feet and her hair gathered into a fustian coif, with +noiseless and cautious steps entered the chamber where the three were +quartered, in quest of the carrier; but scarcely had she gained the door +when Don Quixote perceived her, and sitting up in his bed in spite of his +plasters and the pain of his ribs, he stretched out his arms to receive +his beauteous damsel. The Asturian, who went all doubled up and in silence +with her hands before her feeling for her lover, encountered the arms of +Don Quixote, who grasped her tightly by the wrist, and drawing her towards +him, while she dared not utter a word, made her sit down on the bed. He +then felt her smock, and although it was of sackcloth it appeared to him +to be of the finest and softest silk: on her wrists she wore some glass +beads, but to him they had the sheen of precious Orient pearls: her hair, +which in some measure resembled a horse’s mane, he rated as threads of the +brightest gold of Araby, whose refulgence dimmed the sun himself: her +breath, which no doubt smelt of yesterday’s stale salad, seemed to him to +diffuse a sweet aromatic fragrance from her mouth; and, in short, he drew +her portrait in his imagination with the same features and in the same +style as that which he had seen in his books of the other princesses who, +smitten by love, came with all the adornments that are here set down, to +see the sorely wounded knight; and so great was the poor gentleman’s +blindness that neither touch, nor smell, nor anything else about the good +lass that would have made any but a carrier vomit, were enough to +undeceive him; on the contrary, he was persuaded he had the goddess of +beauty in his arms, and holding her firmly in his grasp he went on to say +in low, tender voice: +</p> +<p> +“Would that I found myself, lovely and exalted lady, in a position to +repay such a favour as that which you, by the sight of your great beauty, have +granted me; but fortune, which is never weary of persecuting the good, has +chosen to place me upon this bed, where I lie so bruised and broken that though +my inclination would gladly comply with yours it is impossible; besides, to +this impossibility another yet greater is to be added, which is the faith that +I have pledged to the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole lady of my most secret +thoughts; and were it not that this stood in the way I should not be so +insensible a knight as to miss the happy opportunity which your great goodness +has offered me.” +</p> +<p> +Maritornes was fretting and sweating at finding herself held so fast by +Don Quixote, and not understanding or heeding the words he addressed to +her, she strove without speaking to free herself. The worthy carrier, +whose unholy thoughts kept him awake, was aware of his doxy the moment she +entered the door, and was listening attentively to all Don Quixote said; +and jealous that the Asturian should have broken her word with him for +another, drew nearer to Don Quixote’s bed and stood still to see what +would come of this talk which he could not understand; but when he +perceived the wench struggling to get free and Don Quixote striving to +hold her, not relishing the joke he raised his arm and delivered such a +terrible cuff on the lank jaws of the amorous knight that he bathed all +his mouth in blood, and not content with this he mounted on his ribs and +with his feet tramped all over them at a pace rather smarter than a trot. +The bed which was somewhat crazy and not very firm on its feet, unable to +support the additional weight of the carrier, came to the ground, and at +the mighty crash of this the innkeeper awoke and at once concluded that it +must be some brawl of Maritornes’, because after calling loudly to her he +got no answer. With this suspicion he got up, and lighting a lamp hastened +to the quarter where he had heard the disturbance. The wench, seeing that +her master was coming and knowing that his temper was terrible, frightened +and panic-stricken made for the bed of Sancho Panza, who still slept, and +crouching upon it made a ball of herself. +</p> +<p> +The innkeeper came in exclaiming, “Where art thou, strumpet? Of course +this is some of thy work.” At this Sancho awoke, and feeling this mass +almost on top of him fancied he had the nightmare and began to distribute +fisticuffs all round, of which a certain share fell upon Maritornes, who, +irritated by the pain and flinging modesty aside, paid back so many in +return to Sancho that she woke him up in spite of himself. He then, +finding himself so handled, by whom he knew not, raising himself up as +well as he could, grappled with Maritornes, and he and she between them +began the bitterest and drollest scrimmage in the world. The carrier, +however, perceiving by the light of the innkeeper candle how it fared with +his ladylove, quitting Don Quixote, ran to bring her the help she needed; +and the innkeeper did the same but with a different intention, for his was +to chastise the lass, as he believed that beyond a doubt she alone was the +cause of all the harmony. And so, as the saying is, cat to rat, rat to +rope, rope to stick, the carrier pounded Sancho, Sancho the lass, she him, +and the innkeeper her, and all worked away so briskly that they did not +give themselves a moment’s rest; and the best of it was that the +innkeeper’s lamp went out, and as they were left in the dark they all laid +on one upon the other in a mass so unmercifully that there was not a sound +spot left where a hand could light. +</p> +<p> +It so happened that there was lodging that night in the inn a caudrillero +of what they call the Old Holy Brotherhood of Toledo, who, also hearing +the extraordinary noise of the conflict, seized his staff and the tin case +with his warrants, and made his way in the dark into the room crying: +“Hold! in the name of the Jurisdiction! Hold! in the name of the Holy +Brotherhood!” +</p> +<p> +The first that he came upon was the pummelled Don Quixote, who lay +stretched senseless on his back upon his broken-down bed, and, his hand +falling on the beard as he felt about, he continued to cry, “Help for the +Jurisdiction!” but perceiving that he whom he had laid hold of did not +move or stir, he concluded that he was dead and that those in the room +were his murderers, and with this suspicion he raised his voice still +higher, calling out, “Shut the inn gate; see that no one goes out; they +have killed a man here!” This cry startled them all, and each dropped the +contest at the point at which the voice reached him. The innkeeper +retreated to his room, the carrier to his pack-saddles, the lass to her +crib; the unlucky Don Quixote and Sancho alone were unable to move from +where they were. The cuadrillero on this let go Don Quixote’s beard, and +went out to look for a light to search for and apprehend the culprits; but +not finding one, as the innkeeper had purposely extinguished the lantern +on retreating to his room, he was compelled to have recourse to the +hearth, where after much time and trouble he lit another lamp. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c16e" id="c16e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c16e.jpg (32K)" src="images/c16e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch17" id="ch17"></a>CHAPTER XVII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH ARE CONTAINED THE INNUMERABLE TROUBLES WHICH THE BRAVE DON +QUIXOTE AND HIS GOOD SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA ENDURED IN THE INN, WHICH TO HIS +MISFORTUNE HE TOOK TO BE A CASTLE +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c17a" id="c17a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c17a.jpg (87K)" src="images/c17a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c17a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +By this time Don Quixote had recovered from his swoon; and in the same +tone of voice in which he had called to his squire the day before when he +lay stretched “in the vale of the stakes,” he began calling to him now, +“Sancho, my friend, art thou asleep? sleepest thou, friend Sancho?” +</p> +<p> +“How can I sleep, curses on it!” returned Sancho discontentedly and +bitterly, “when it is plain that all the devils have been at me this +night?” +</p> +<p> +“Thou mayest well believe that,” answered Don Quixote, “because, either I +know little, or this castle is enchanted, for thou must know—but +this that I am now about to tell thee thou must swear to keep secret until +after my death.” +</p> +<p> +“I swear it,” answered Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“I say so,” continued Don Quixote, “because I hate taking away anyone’s +good name.” +</p> +<p> +“I say,” replied Sancho, “that I swear to hold my tongue about it till the +end of your worship’s days, and God grant I may be able to let it out +to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Do I do thee such injuries, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou wouldst +see me dead so soon?” +</p> +<p> +“It is not for that,” replied Sancho, “but because I hate keeping things +long, and I don’t want them to grow rotten with me from over-keeping.” +</p> +<p> +“At any rate,” said Don Quixote, “I have more confidence in thy affection +and good nature; and so I would have thee know that this night there +befell me one of the strangest adventures that I could describe, and to +relate it to thee briefly thou must know that a little while ago the +daughter of the lord of this castle came to me, and that she is the most +elegant and beautiful damsel that could be found in the wide world. What I +could tell thee of the charms of her person! of her lively wit! of other +secret matters which, to preserve the fealty I owe to my lady Dulcinea del +Toboso, I shall pass over unnoticed and in silence! I will only tell thee +that, either fate being envious of so great a boon placed in my hands by +good fortune, or perhaps (and this is more probable) this castle being, as +I have already said, enchanted, at the time when I was engaged in the +sweetest and most amorous discourse with her, there came, without my +seeing or knowing whence it came, a hand attached to some arm of some huge +giant, that planted such a cuff on my jaws that I have them all bathed in +blood, and then pummelled me in such a way that I am in a worse plight +than yesterday when the carriers, on account of Rocinante’s misbehaviour, +inflicted on us the injury thou knowest of; whence conjecture that there +must be some enchanted Moor guarding the treasure of this damsel’s beauty, +and that it is not for me.” +</p> +<p> +“Not for me either,” said Sancho, “for more than four hundred Moors have +so thrashed me that the drubbing of the stakes was cakes and fancy-bread +to it. But tell me, señor, what do you call this excellent and rare +adventure that has left us as we are left now? Though your worship was not +so badly off, having in your arms that incomparable beauty you spoke of; +but I, what did I have, except the heaviest whacks I think I had in all my +life? Unlucky me and the mother that bore me! for I am not a knight-errant +and never expect to be one, and of all the mishaps, the greater part falls +to my share.” +</p> +<p> +“Then thou hast been thrashed too?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Didn’t I say so? worse luck to my line!” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“Be not distressed, friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I will now make the +precious balsam with which we shall cure ourselves in the twinkling of an +eye.” +</p> +<p> +By this time the cuadrillero had succeeded in lighting the lamp, and came +in to see the man that he thought had been killed; and as Sancho caught +sight of him at the door, seeing him coming in his shirt, with a cloth on +his head, and a lamp in his hand, and a very forbidding countenance, he +said to his master, “Señor, can it be that this is the enchanted Moor +coming back to give us more castigation if there be anything still left in +the ink-bottle?” +</p> +<p> +“It cannot be the Moor,” answered Don Quixote, “for those under +enchantment do not let themselves be seen by anyone.” +</p> +<p> +“If they don’t let themselves be seen, they let themselves be felt,” said +Sancho; “if not, let my shoulders speak to the point.” +</p> +<p> +“Mine could speak too,” said Don Quixote, “but that is not a sufficient +reason for believing that what we see is the enchanted Moor.” +</p> +<p> +The officer came up, and finding them engaged in such a peaceful +conversation, stood amazed; though Don Quixote, to be sure, still lay on +his back unable to move from pure pummelling and plasters. The officer +turned to him and said, “Well, how goes it, good man?” +</p> +<p> +“I would speak more politely if I were you,” replied Don Quixote; “is it +the way of this country to address knights-errant in that style, you +booby?” +</p> +<p> +The cuadrillero finding himself so disrespectfully treated by such a +sorry-looking individual, lost his temper, and raising the lamp full of +oil, smote Don Quixote such a blow with it on the head that he gave him a +badly broken pate; then, all being in darkness, he went out, and Sancho +Panza said, “That is certainly the enchanted Moor, Señor, and he keeps the +treasure for others, and for us only the cuffs and lamp-whacks.” +</p> +<p> +“That is the truth,” answered Don Quixote, “and there is no use in +troubling oneself about these matters of enchantment or being angry or +vexed at them, for as they are invisible and visionary we shall find no +one on whom to avenge ourselves, do what we may; rise, Sancho, if thou +canst, and call the alcaide of this fortress, and get him to give me a +little oil, wine, salt, and rosemary to make the salutiferous balsam, for +indeed I believe I have great need of it now, because I am losing much +blood from the wound that phantom gave me.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho got up with pain enough in his bones, and went after the innkeeper +in the dark, and meeting the officer, who was looking to see what had +become of his enemy, he said to him, “Señor, whoever you are, do us the +favour and kindness to give us a little rosemary, oil, salt, and wine, for +it is wanted to cure one of the best knights-errant on earth, who lies on +yonder bed wounded by the hands of the enchanted Moor that is in this +inn.” +</p> +<p> +When the officer heard him talk in this way, he took him for a man out of +his senses, and as day was now beginning to break, he opened the inn gate, +and calling the host, he told him what this good man wanted. The host +furnished him with what he required, and Sancho brought it to Don Quixote, +who, with his hand to his head, was bewailing the pain of the blow of the +lamp, which had done him no more harm than raising a couple of rather +large lumps, and what he fancied blood was only the sweat that flowed from +him in his sufferings during the late storm. To be brief, he took the +materials, of which he made a compound, mixing them all and boiling them a +good while until it seemed to him they had come to perfection. He then +asked for some vial to pour it into, and as there was not one in the inn, +he decided on putting it into a tin oil-bottle or flask of which the host +made him a free gift; and over the flask he repeated more than eighty +paternosters and as many more ave-marias, salves, and credos, accompanying +each word with a cross by way of benediction, at all which there were +present Sancho, the innkeeper, and the cuadrillero; for the carrier was +now peacefully engaged in attending to the comfort of his mules. +</p> +<p> +This being accomplished, he felt anxious to make trial himself, on the +spot, of the virtue of this precious balsam, as he considered it, and so +he drank near a quart of what could not be put into the flask and remained +in the pigskin in which it had been boiled; but scarcely had he done +drinking when he began to vomit in such a way that nothing was left in his +stomach, and with the pangs and spasms of vomiting he broke into a profuse +sweat, on account of which he bade them cover him up and leave him alone. +They did so, and he lay sleeping more than three hours, at the end of +which he awoke and felt very great bodily relief and so much ease from his +bruises that he thought himself quite cured, and verily believed he had +hit upon the balsam of Fierabras; and that with this remedy he might +thenceforward, without any fear, face any kind of destruction, battle, or +combat, however perilous it might be. +</p> +<p> +Sancho Panza, who also regarded the amendment of his master as miraculous, +begged him to give him what was left in the pigskin, which was no small +quantity. Don Quixote consented, and he, taking it with both hands, in +good faith and with a better will, gulped down and drained off very little +less than his master. But the fact is, that the stomach of poor Sancho was +of necessity not so delicate as that of his master, and so, before +vomiting, he was seized with such gripings and retchings, and such sweats +and faintness, that verily and truly he believed his last hour had come, +and finding himself so racked and tormented he cursed the balsam and the +thief that had given it to him. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote seeing him in this state said, “It is my belief, Sancho, that +this mischief comes of thy not being dubbed a knight, for I am persuaded +this liquor cannot be good for those who are not so.” +</p> +<p> +“If your worship knew that,” returned Sancho—“woe betide me and all +my kindred!—why did you let me taste it?” +</p> +<p> +At this moment the draught took effect, and the poor squire began to +discharge both ways at such a rate that the rush mat on which he had +thrown himself and the canvas blanket he had covering him were fit for +nothing afterwards. He sweated and perspired with such paroxysms and +convulsions that not only he himself but all present thought his end had +come. This tempest and tribulation lasted about two hours, at the end of +which he was left, not like his master, but so weak and exhausted that he +could not stand. Don Quixote, however, who, as has been said, felt himself +relieved and well, was eager to take his departure at once in quest of +adventures, as it seemed to him that all the time he loitered there was a +fraud upon the world and those in it who stood in need of his help and +protection, all the more when he had the security and confidence his +balsam afforded him; and so, urged by this impulse, he saddled Rocinante +himself and put the pack-saddle on his squire’s beast, whom likewise he +helped to dress and mount the ass; after which he mounted his horse and +turning to a corner of the inn he laid hold of a pike that stood there, to +serve him by way of a lance. All that were in the inn, who were more than +twenty persons, stood watching him; the innkeeper’s daughter was likewise +observing him, and he too never took his eyes off her, and from time to +time fetched a sigh that he seemed to pluck up from the depths of his +bowels; but they all thought it must be from the pain he felt in his ribs; +at any rate they who had seen him plastered the night before thought so. +</p> +<p> +As soon as they were both mounted, at the gate of the inn, he called to +the host and said in a very grave and measured voice, “Many and great are +the favours, Señor Alcaide, that I have received in this castle of yours, +and I remain under the deepest obligation to be grateful to you for them +all the days of my life; if I can repay them in avenging you of any +arrogant foe who may have wronged you, know that my calling is no other +than to aid the weak, to avenge those who suffer wrong, and to chastise +perfidy. Search your memory, and if you find anything of this kind you +need only tell me of it, and I promise you by the order of knighthood +which I have received to procure you satisfaction and reparation to the +utmost of your desire.” +</p> +<p> +The innkeeper replied to him with equal calmness, “Sir Knight, I do not +want your worship to avenge me of any wrong, because when any is done me I +can take what vengeance seems good to me; the only thing I want is that +you pay me the score that you have run up in the inn last night, as well +for the straw and barley for your two beasts, as for supper and beds.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c16c" id="c16c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c16c.jpg (326K)" src="images/c16c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c16c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Then this is an inn?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“And a very respectable one,” said the innkeeper. +</p> +<p> +“I have been under a mistake all this time,” answered Don Quixote, “for in +truth I thought it was a castle, and not a bad one; but since it appears +that it is not a castle but an inn, all that can be done now is that you +should excuse the payment, for I cannot contravene the rule of +knights-errant, of whom I know as a fact (and up to the present I have +read nothing to the contrary) that they never paid for lodging or anything +else in the inn where they might be; for any hospitality that might be +offered them is their due by law and right in return for the insufferable +toil they endure in seeking adventures by night and by day, in summer and +in winter, on foot and on horseback, in hunger and thirst, cold and heat, +exposed to all the inclemencies of heaven and all the hardships of earth.” +</p> +<p> +“I have little to do with that,” replied the innkeeper; “pay me what you +owe me, and let us have no more talk of chivalry, for all I care about is +to get my money.” +</p> +<p> +“You are a stupid, scurvy innkeeper,” said Don Quixote, and putting spurs +to Rocinante and bringing his pike to the slope he rode out of the inn +before anyone could stop him, and pushed on some distance without looking +to see if his squire was following him. +</p> +<p> +The innkeeper when he saw him go without paying him ran to get payment of +Sancho, who said that as his master would not pay neither would he, +because, being as he was squire to a knight-errant, the same rule and +reason held good for him as for his master with regard to not paying +anything in inns and hostelries. At this the innkeeper waxed very wroth, +and threatened if he did not pay to compel him in a way that he would not +like. To which Sancho made answer that by the law of chivalry his master +had received he would not pay a rap, though it cost him his life; for the +excellent and ancient usage of knights-errant was not going to be violated +by him, nor should the squires of such as were yet to come into the world +ever complain of him or reproach him with breaking so just a privilege. +</p> +<p> +The ill-luck of the unfortunate Sancho so ordered it that among the +company in the inn there were four woolcarders from Segovia, three +needle-makers from the Colt of Cordova, and two lodgers from the Fair of +Seville, lively fellows, tender-hearted, fond of a joke, and playful, who, +almost as if instigated and moved by a common impulse, made up to Sancho +and dismounted him from his ass, while one of them went in for the blanket +of the host’s bed; but on flinging him into it they looked up, and seeing +that the ceiling was somewhat lower than what they required for their work, +they decided upon going out into the yard, which was bounded by the sky, +and there, putting Sancho in the middle of the blanket, they began to +raise him high, making sport with him as they would with a dog at +Shrovetide. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c16d" id="c16d"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c16d.jpg (285K)" src="images/c16d.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c16d.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +The cries of the poor blanketed wretch were so loud that they reached the +ears of his master, who, halting to listen attentively, was persuaded that +some new adventure was coming, until he clearly perceived that it was his +squire who uttered them. Wheeling about he came up to the inn with a +laborious gallop, and finding it shut went round it to see if he could +find some way of getting in; but as soon as he came to the wall of the +yard, which was not very high, he discovered the game that was being +played with his squire. He saw him rising and falling in the air with such +grace and nimbleness that, had his rage allowed him, it is my belief he +would have laughed. He tried to climb from his horse on to the top of the +wall, but he was so bruised and battered that he could not even dismount; +and so from the back of his horse he began to utter such maledictions and +objurgations against those who were blanketing Sancho as it would be +impossible to write down accurately: they, however, did not stay their +laughter or their work for this, nor did the flying Sancho cease his +lamentations, mingled now with threats, now with entreaties but all to +little purpose, or none at all, until from pure weariness they left off. +They then brought him his ass, and mounting him on top of it they put his +jacket round him; and the compassionate Maritornes, seeing him so +exhausted, thought fit to refresh him with a jug of water, and that it +might be all the cooler she fetched it from the well. Sancho took it, and +as he was raising it to his mouth he was stopped by the cries of his +master exclaiming, “Sancho, my son, drink not water; drink it not, my son, +for it will kill thee; see, here I have the blessed balsam (and he held up +the flask of liquor), and with drinking two drops of it thou wilt +certainly be restored.” +</p> +<p> +At these words Sancho turned his eyes asquint, and in a still louder voice +said, “Can it be your worship has forgotten that I am not a knight, or do +you want me to end by vomiting up what bowels I have left after last +night? Keep your liquor in the name of all the devils, and leave me to +myself!” and at one and the same instant he left off talking and began +drinking; but as at the first sup he perceived it was water he did not +care to go on with it, and begged Maritornes to fetch him some wine, which +she did with right good will, and paid for it with her own money; for +indeed they say of her that, though she was in that line of life, there +was some faint and distant resemblance to a Christian about her. When +Sancho had done drinking he dug his heels into his ass, and the gate of +the inn being thrown open he passed out very well pleased at having paid +nothing and carried his point, though it had been at the expense of his +usual sureties, his shoulders. It is true that the innkeeper detained his +alforjas in payment of what was owing to him, but Sancho took his +departure in such a flurry that he never missed them. The innkeeper, as +soon as he saw him off, wanted to bar the gate close, but the blanketers +would not agree to it, for they were fellows who would not have cared two +farthings for Don Quixote, even had he been really one of the +knights-errant of the Round Table. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c17e" id="c17e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c17e.jpg (47K)" src="images/c17e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch18" id="ch18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH IS RELATED THE DISCOURSE SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER, DON +QUIXOTE, AND OTHER ADVENTURES WORTH RELATING +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c18a" id="c18a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c18a.jpg (79K)" src="images/c18a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c18a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Sancho reached his master so limp and faint that he could not urge on his +beast. When Don Quixote saw the state he was in he said, “I have now come +to the conclusion, good Sancho, that this castle or inn is beyond a doubt +enchanted, because those who have so atrociously diverted themselves with +thee, what can they be but phantoms or beings of another world? and I hold +this confirmed by having noticed that when I was by the wall of the yard +witnessing the acts of thy sad tragedy, it was out of my power to mount +upon it, nor could I even dismount from Rocinante, because they no doubt +had me enchanted; for I swear to thee by the faith of what I am that if I +had been able to climb up or dismount, I would have avenged thee in such a +way that those braggart thieves would have remembered their freak for +ever, even though in so doing I knew that I contravened the laws of +chivalry, which, as I have often told thee, do not permit a knight to lay +hands on him who is not one, save in case of urgent and great necessity in +defence of his own life and person.” +</p> +<p> +“I would have avenged myself too if I could,” said Sancho, “whether I had +been dubbed knight or not, but I could not; though for my part I am +persuaded those who amused themselves with me were not phantoms or +enchanted men, as your worship says, but men of flesh and bone like +ourselves; and they all had their names, for I heard them name them when +they were tossing me, and one was called Pedro Martinez, and another +Tenorio Hernandez, and the innkeeper, I heard, was called Juan Palomeque +the Left-handed; so that, señor, your not being able to leap over the wall +of the yard or dismount from your horse came of something else besides +enchantments; and what I make out clearly from all this is, that these +adventures we go seeking will in the end lead us into such misadventures +that we shall not know which is our right foot; and that the best and +wisest thing, according to my small wits, would be for us to return home, +now that it is harvest-time, and attend to our business, and give over +wandering from Zeca to Mecca and from pail to bucket, as the saying is.” +</p> +<p> +“How little thou knowest about chivalry, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; +“hold thy peace and have patience; the day will come when thou shalt see +with thine own eyes what an honourable thing it is to wander in the +pursuit of this calling; nay, tell me, what greater pleasure can there be +in the world, or what delight can equal that of winning a battle, and +triumphing over one’s enemy? None, beyond all doubt.” +</p> +<p> +“Very likely,” answered Sancho, “though I do not know it; all I know is +that since we have been knights-errant, or since your worship has been one +(for I have no right to reckon myself one of so honourable a number) we +have never won any battle except the one with the Biscayan, and even out +of that your worship came with half an ear and half a helmet the less; and +from that till now it has been all cudgellings and more cudgellings, cuffs +and more cuffs, I getting the blanketing over and above, and falling in +with enchanted persons on whom I cannot avenge myself so as to know what +the delight, as your worship calls it, of conquering an enemy is like.” +</p> +<p> +“That is what vexes me, and what ought to vex thee, Sancho,” replied Don +Quixote; “but henceforward I will endeavour to have at hand some sword +made by such craft that no kind of enchantments can take effect upon him +who carries it, and it is even possible that fortune may procure for me +that which belonged to Amadis when he was called ‘The Knight of the +Burning Sword,’ which was one of the best swords that ever knight in the +world possessed, for, besides having the said virtue, it cut like a razor, +and there was no armour, however strong and enchanted it might be, that +could resist it.” +</p> +<p> +“Such is my luck,” said Sancho, “that even if that happened and your +worship found some such sword, it would, like the balsam, turn out +serviceable and good for dubbed knights only, and as for the squires, they +might sup sorrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Fear not that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote: “Heaven will deal better by +thee.” +</p> +<p> +Thus talking, Don Quixote and his squire were going along, when, on the +road they were following, Don Quixote perceived approaching them a large +and thick cloud of dust, on seeing which he turned to Sancho and said: +</p> +<p> +“This is the day, Sancho, on which will be seen the boon my fortune is +reserving for me; this, I say, is the day on which as much as on any other +shall be displayed the might of my arm, and on which I shall do deeds that +shall remain written in the book of fame for all ages to come. Seest thou +that cloud of dust which rises yonder? Well, then, all that is churned up +by a vast army composed of various and countless nations that comes +marching there.” +</p> +<p> +“According to that there must be two,” said Sancho, “for on this opposite +side also there rises just such another cloud of dust.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote turned to look and found that it was true, and rejoicing +exceedingly, he concluded that they were two armies about to engage and +encounter in the midst of that broad plain; for at all times and seasons +his fancy was full of the battles, enchantments, adventures, crazy feats, +loves, and defiances that are recorded in the books of chivalry, and +everything he said, thought, or did had reference to such things. Now the +cloud of dust he had seen was raised by two great droves of sheep coming +along the same road in opposite directions, which, because of the dust, +did not become visible until they drew near, but Don Quixote asserted so +positively that they were armies that Sancho was led to believe it and +say, “Well, and what are we to do, señor?” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c17b" id="c17b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c17b.jpg (339K)" src="images/c17b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c17b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“What?” said Don Quixote: “give aid and assistance to the weak and those +who need it; and thou must know, Sancho, that this which comes opposite to +us is conducted and led by the mighty emperor Alifanfaron, lord of the +great isle of Trapobana; this other that marches behind me is that of his +enemy the king of the Garamantas, Pentapolin of the Bare Arm, for he +always goes into battle with his right arm bare.” +</p> +<p> +“But why are these two lords such enemies?” +</p> +<p> +“They are at enmity,” replied Don Quixote, “because this Alifanfaron is a +furious pagan and is in love with the daughter of Pentapolin, who is a +very beautiful and moreover gracious lady, and a Christian, and her father +is unwilling to bestow her upon the pagan king unless he first abandons +the religion of his false prophet Mahomet, and adopts his own.” +</p> +<p> +“By my beard,” said Sancho, “but Pentapolin does quite right, and I will +help him as much as I can.” +</p> +<p> +“In that thou wilt do what is thy duty, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for to +engage in battles of this sort it is not requisite to be a dubbed knight.” +</p> +<p> +“That I can well understand,” answered Sancho; “but where shall we put +this ass where we may be sure to find him after the fray is over? for I +believe it has not been the custom so far to go into battle on a beast of +this kind.” +</p> +<p> +“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and what you had best do with him is to +leave him to take his chance whether he be lost or not, for the horses we +shall have when we come out victors will be so many that even Rocinante +will run a risk of being changed for another. But attend to me and +observe, for I wish to give thee some account of the chief knights who +accompany these two armies; and that thou mayest the better see and mark, +let us withdraw to that hillock which rises yonder, whence both armies may +be seen.” +</p> +<p> +They did so, and placed themselves on a rising ground from which the two +droves that Don Quixote made armies of might have been plainly seen if the +clouds of dust they raised had not obscured them and blinded the sight; +nevertheless, seeing in his imagination what he did not see and what did +not exist, he began thus in a loud voice: +</p> +<p> +“That knight whom thou seest yonder in yellow armour, who bears upon his +shield a lion crowned crouching at the feet of a damsel, is the valiant +Laurcalco, lord of the Silver Bridge; that one in armour with flowers of +gold, who bears on his shield three crowns argent on an azure field, is +the dreaded Micocolembo, grand duke of Quirocia; that other of gigantic +frame, on his right hand, is the ever dauntless Brandabarbaran de Boliche, +lord of the three Arabias, who for armour wears that serpent skin, and has +for shield a gate which, according to tradition, is one of those of the +temple that Samson brought to the ground when by his death he revenged +himself upon his enemies. But turn thine eyes to the other side, and thou +shalt see in front and in the van of this other army the ever victorious +and never vanquished Timonel of Carcajona, prince of New Biscay, who comes +in armour with arms quartered azure, vert, white, and yellow, and bears on +his shield a cat or on a field tawny with a motto which says Miau, which +is the beginning of the name of his lady, who according to report is the +peerless Miaulina, daughter of the duke Alfeniquen of the Algarve; the +other, who burdens and presses the loins of that powerful charger and +bears arms white as snow and a shield blank and without any device, is a +novice knight, a Frenchman by birth, Pierres Papin by name, lord of the +baronies of Utrique; that other, who with iron-shod heels strikes the +flanks of that nimble parti-coloured zebra, and for arms bears azure vair, +is the mighty duke of Nerbia, Espartafilardo del Bosque, who bears for +device on his shield an asparagus plant with a motto in Castilian that +says, Rastrea mi suerte.” And so he went on naming a number of knights of +one squadron or the other out of his imagination, and to all he assigned +off-hand their arms, colours, devices, and mottoes, carried away by the +illusions of his unheard-of craze; and without a pause, he continued, +“People of divers nations compose this squadron in front; here are those +that drink of the sweet waters of the famous Xanthus, those that scour the +woody Massilian plains, those that sift the pure fine gold of Arabia +Felix, those that enjoy the famed cool banks of the crystal Thermodon, +those that in many and various ways divert the streams of the golden +Pactolus, the Numidians, faithless in their promises, the Persians +renowned in archery, the Parthians and the Medes that fight as they fly, +the Arabs that ever shift their dwellings, the Scythians as cruel as they +are fair, the Ethiopians with pierced lips, and an infinity of other +nations whose features I recognise and descry, though I cannot recall +their names. In this other squadron there come those that drink of the +crystal streams of the olive-bearing Betis, those that make smooth their +countenances with the water of the ever rich and golden Tagus, those that +rejoice in the fertilising flow of the divine Genil, those that roam the +Tartesian plains abounding in pasture, those that take their pleasure in +the Elysian meadows of Jerez, the rich Manchegans crowned with ruddy ears +of corn, the wearers of iron, old relics of the Gothic race, those that +bathe in the Pisuerga renowned for its gentle current, those that feed +their herds along the spreading pastures of the winding Guadiana famed for +its hidden course, those that tremble with the cold of the pineclad +Pyrenees or the dazzling snows of the lofty Apennine; in a word, as many +as all Europe includes and contains.” +</p> +<p> +Good God! what a number of countries and nations he named! giving to each +its proper attributes with marvellous readiness; brimful and saturated +with what he had read in his lying books! Sancho Panza hung upon his words +without speaking, and from time to time turned to try if he could see the +knights and giants his master was describing, and as he could not make out +one of them he said to him: +</p> +<p> +“Señor, devil take it if there’s a sign of any man you talk of, knight or +giant, in the whole thing; maybe it’s all enchantment, like the phantoms +last night.” +</p> +<p> +“How canst thou say that!” answered Don Quixote; “dost thou not hear the +neighing of the steeds, the braying of the trumpets, the roll of the +drums?” +</p> +<p> +“I hear nothing but a great bleating of ewes and sheep,” said Sancho; +which was true, for by this time the two flocks had come close. +</p> +<p> +“The fear thou art in, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “prevents thee from +seeing or hearing correctly, for one of the effects of fear is to derange +the senses and make things appear different from what they are; if thou +art in such fear, withdraw to one side and leave me to myself, for alone I +suffice to bring victory to that side to which I shall give my aid;” and +so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and putting the lance in rest, shot +down the slope like a thunderbolt. Sancho shouted after him, crying, “Come +back, Señor Don Quixote; I vow to God they are sheep and ewes you are +charging! Come back! Unlucky the father that begot me! what madness is +this! Look, there is no giant, nor knight, nor cats, nor arms, nor shields +quartered or whole, nor vair azure or bedevilled. What are you about? +Sinner that I am before God!” But not for all these entreaties did Don +Quixote turn back; on the contrary he went on shouting out, “Ho, knights, +ye who follow and fight under the banners of the valiant emperor +Pentapolin of the Bare Arm, follow me all; ye shall see how easily I shall +give him his revenge over his enemy Alifanfaron of the Trapobana.” +</p> +<p> +So saying, he dashed into the midst of the squadron of ewes, and began +spearing them with as much spirit and intrepidity as if he were +transfixing mortal enemies in earnest. The shepherds and drovers +accompanying the flock shouted to him to desist; seeing it was no use, +they ungirt their slings and began to salute his ears with stones as big +as one’s fist. Don Quixote gave no heed to the stones, but, letting drive +right and left kept saying: +</p> +<p> +“Where art thou, proud Alifanfaron? Come before me; I am a single knight +who would fain prove thy prowess hand to hand, and make thee yield thy +life a penalty for the wrong thou dost to the valiant Pentapolin +Garamanta.” Here came a sugar-plum from the brook that struck him on the +side and buried a couple of ribs in his body. Feeling himself so smitten, +he imagined himself slain or badly wounded for certain, and recollecting +his liquor he drew out his flask, and putting it to his mouth began to +pour the contents into his stomach; but ere he had succeeded in swallowing +what seemed to him enough, there came another almond which struck him on +the hand and on the flask so fairly that it smashed it to pieces, knocking +three or four teeth and grinders out of his mouth in its course, and +sorely crushing two fingers of his hand. Such was the force of the first +blow and of the second, that the poor knight in spite of himself came down +backwards off his horse. The shepherds came up, and felt sure they had +killed him; so in all haste they collected their flock together, took up +the dead beasts, of which there were more than seven, and made off without +waiting to ascertain anything further. +</p> +<p> +All this time Sancho stood on the hill watching the crazy feats his master +was performing, and tearing his beard and cursing the hour and the +occasion when fortune had made him acquainted with him. Seeing him, then, +brought to the ground, and that the shepherds had taken themselves off, he +ran to him and found him in very bad case, though not unconscious; and +said he: +</p> +<p> +“Did I not tell you to come back, Señor Don Quixote; and that what you +were going to attack were not armies but droves of sheep?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s how that thief of a sage, my enemy, can alter and falsify things,” +answered Don Quixote; “thou must know, Sancho, that it is a very easy +matter for those of his sort to make us believe what they choose; and this +malignant being who persecutes me, envious of the glory he knew I was to +win in this battle, has turned the squadrons of the enemy into droves of +sheep. At any rate, do this much, I beg of thee, Sancho, to undeceive +thyself, and see that what I say is true; mount thy ass and follow them +quietly, and thou shalt see that when they have gone some little distance +from this they will return to their original shape and, ceasing to be +sheep, become men in all respects as I described them to thee at first. +But go not just yet, for I want thy help and assistance; come hither, and +see how many of my teeth and grinders are missing, for I feel as if there +was not one left in my mouth.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho came so close that he almost put his eyes into his mouth; now just +at that moment the balsam had acted on the stomach of Don Quixote, so, at +the very instant when Sancho came to examine his mouth, he discharged all +its contents with more force than a musket, and full into the beard of the +compassionate squire. +</p> +<p> +“Holy Mary!” cried Sancho, “what is this that has happened me? Clearly +this sinner is mortally wounded, as he vomits blood from the mouth;” but +considering the matter a little more closely he perceived by the colour, +taste, and smell, that it was not blood but the balsam from the flask +which he had seen him drink; and he was taken with such a loathing that +his stomach turned, and he vomited up his inside over his very master, and +both were left in a precious state. Sancho ran to his ass to get something +wherewith to clean himself, and relieve his master, out of his alforjas; +but not finding them, he well-nigh took leave of his senses, and cursed +himself anew, and in his heart resolved to quit his master and return +home, even though he forfeited the wages of his service and all hopes of +the promised island. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote now rose, and putting his left hand to his mouth to keep his +teeth from falling out altogether, with the other he laid hold of the +bridle of Rocinante, who had never stirred from his master’s side—so +loyal and well-behaved was he—and betook himself to where the squire +stood leaning over his ass with his hand to his cheek, like one in deep +dejection. Seeing him in this mood, looking so sad, Don Quixote said to +him: +</p> +<p> +“Bear in mind, Sancho, that one man is no more than another, unless he +does more than another; all these tempests that fall upon us are signs +that fair weather is coming shortly, and that things will go well with us, +for it is impossible for good or evil to last for ever; and hence it +follows that the evil having lasted long, the good must be now nigh at +hand; so thou must not distress thyself at the misfortunes which happen to +me, since thou hast no share in them.” +</p> +<p> +“How have I not?” replied Sancho; “was he whom they blanketed yesterday +perchance any other than my father’s son? and the alforjas that are +missing to-day with all my treasures, did they belong to any other but +myself?” +</p> +<p> +“What! are the alforjas missing, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, they are missing,” answered Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“In that case we have nothing to eat to-day,” replied Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“It would be so,” answered Sancho, “if there were none of the herbs your +worship says you know in these meadows, those with which knights-errant as +unlucky as your worship are wont to supply such-like shortcomings.” +</p> +<p> +“For all that,” answered Don Quixote, “I would rather have just now a +quarter of bread, or a loaf and a couple of pilchards’ heads, than all the +herbs described by Dioscorides, even with Doctor Laguna’s notes. +Nevertheless, Sancho the Good, mount thy beast and come along with me, for +God, who provides for all things, will not fail us (more especially when +we are so active in his service as we are), since he fails not the midges +of the air, nor the grubs of the earth, nor the tadpoles of the water, and +is so merciful that he maketh his sun to rise on the good and on the evil, +and sendeth rain on the unjust and on the just.” +</p> +<p> +“Your worship would make a better preacher than knight-errant,” said +Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“Knights-errant knew and ought to know everything, Sancho,” said Don +Quixote; “for there were knights-errant in former times as well qualified +to deliver a sermon or discourse in the middle of an encampment, as if +they had graduated in the University of Paris; whereby we may see that the +lance has never blunted the pen, nor the pen the lance.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, be it as your worship says,” replied Sancho; “let us be off now and +find some place of shelter for the night, and God grant it may be +somewhere where there are no blankets, nor blanketeers, nor phantoms, nor +enchanted Moors; for if there are, may the devil take the whole concern.” +</p> +<p> +“Ask that of God, my son,” said Don Quixote; and do thou lead on where +thou wilt, for this time I leave our lodging to thy choice; but reach me +here thy hand, and feel with thy finger, and find out how many of my teeth +and grinders are missing from this right side of the upper jaw, for it is +there I feel the pain.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho put in his fingers, and feeling about asked him, “How many grinders +used your worship have on this side?” +</p> +<p> +“Four,” replied Don Quixote, “besides the back-tooth, all whole and quite +sound.” +</p> +<p> +“Mind what you are saying, señor.” +</p> +<p> +“I say four, if not five,” answered Don Quixote, “for never in my life +have I had tooth or grinder drawn, nor has any fallen out or been +destroyed by any decay or rheum.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then,” said Sancho, “in this lower side your worship has no more +than two grinders and a half, and in the upper neither a half nor any at +all, for it is all as smooth as the palm of my hand.” +</p> +<p> +“Luckless that I am!” said Don Quixote, hearing the sad news his squire +gave him; “I had rather they despoiled me of an arm, so it were not the +sword-arm; for I tell thee, Sancho, a mouth without teeth is like a mill +without a millstone, and a tooth is much more to be prized than a diamond; +but we who profess the austere order of chivalry are liable to all this. +Mount, friend, and lead the way, and I will follow thee at whatever pace +thou wilt.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho did as he bade him, and proceeded in the direction in which he +thought he might find refuge without quitting the high road, which was +there very much frequented. As they went along, then, at a slow pace—for +the pain in Don Quixote’s jaws kept him uneasy and ill-disposed for speed—Sancho +thought it well to amuse and divert him by talk of some kind, and among +the things he said to him was that which will be told in the following +chapter. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c18e" id="c18e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c18e.jpg (44K)" src="images/c18e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch19" id="ch19"></a>CHAPTER XIX. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE SHREWD DISCOURSE WHICH SANCHO HELD WITH HIS MASTER, AND OF THE +ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL HIM WITH A DEAD BODY, TOGETHER WITH OTHER NOTABLE +OCCURRENCES +</h3> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<p> +“It seems to me, señor, that all these mishaps that have befallen us of +late have been without any doubt a punishment for the offence committed by +your worship against the order of chivalry in not keeping the oath you +made not to eat bread off a tablecloth or embrace the queen, and all the +rest of it that your worship swore to observe until you had taken that +helmet of Malandrino’s, or whatever the Moor is called, for I do not very +well remember.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou art very right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but to tell the truth, +it had escaped my memory; and likewise thou mayest rely upon it that the +affair of the blanket happened to thee because of thy fault in not +reminding me of it in time; but I will make amends, for there are ways of +compounding for everything in the order of chivalry.” +</p> +<p> +“Why! have I taken an oath of some sort, then?” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“It makes no matter that thou hast not taken an oath,” said Don Quixote; +“suffice it that I see thou art not quite clear of complicity; and whether +or no, it will not be ill done to provide ourselves with a remedy.” +</p> +<p> +“In that case,” said Sancho, “mind that your worship does not forget this +as you did the oath; perhaps the phantoms may take it into their heads to +amuse themselves once more with me; or even with your worship if they see +you so obstinate.” +</p> +<p> +While engaged in this and other talk, night overtook them on the road +before they had reached or discovered any place of shelter; and what made +it still worse was that they were dying of hunger, for with the loss of +the alforjas they had lost their entire larder and commissariat; and to +complete the misfortune they met with an adventure which without any +invention had really the appearance of one. It so happened that the night +closed in somewhat darkly, but for all that they pushed on, Sancho feeling +sure that as the road was the king’s highway they might reasonably expect +to find some inn within a league or two. Going along, then, in this way, +the night dark, the squire hungry, the master sharp-set, they saw coming +towards them on the road they were travelling a great number of lights +which looked exactly like stars in motion. Sancho was taken aback at the +sight of them, nor did Don Quixote altogether relish them: the one pulled +up his ass by the halter, the other his hack by the bridle, and they stood +still, watching anxiously to see what all this would turn out to be, and +found that the lights were approaching them, and the nearer they came the +greater they seemed, at which spectacle Sancho began to shake like a man +dosed with mercury, and Don Quixote’s hair stood on end; he, however, +plucking up spirit a little, said: +</p> +<p> +“This, no doubt, Sancho, will be a most mighty and perilous adventure, in +which it will be needful for me to put forth all my valour and +resolution.” +</p> +<p> +“Unlucky me!” answered Sancho; “if this adventure happens to be one of +phantoms, as I am beginning to think it is, where shall I find the ribs to +bear it?” +</p> +<p> +“Be they phantoms ever so much,” said Don Quixote, “I will not permit them +to touch a thread of thy garments; for if they played tricks with thee the +time before, it was because I was unable to leap the walls of the yard; +but now we are on a wide plain, where I shall be able to wield my sword as +I please.” +</p> +<p> +“And if they enchant and cripple you as they did the last time,” said +Sancho, “what difference will it make being on the open plain or not?” +</p> +<p> +“For all that,” replied Don Quixote, “I entreat thee, Sancho, to keep a +good heart, for experience will tell thee what mine is.” +</p> +<p> +“I will, please God,” answered Sancho, and the two retiring to one side of +the road set themselves to observe closely what all these moving lights +might be; and very soon afterwards they made out some twenty encamisados, +all on horseback, with lighted torches in their hands, the awe-inspiring +aspect of whom completely extinguished the courage of Sancho, who began to +chatter with his teeth like one in the cold fit of an ague; and his heart +sank and his teeth chattered still more when they perceived distinctly +that behind them there came a litter covered over with black and followed +by six more mounted figures in mourning down to the very feet of their +mules—for they could perceive plainly they were not horses by the +easy pace at which they went. And as the encamisados came along they +muttered to themselves in a low plaintive tone. This strange spectacle at +such an hour and in such a solitary place was quite enough to strike +terror into Sancho’s heart, and even into his master’s; and (save in Don +Quixote’s case) did so, for all Sancho’s resolution had now broken down. +It was just the opposite with his master, whose imagination immediately +conjured up all this to him vividly as one of the adventures of his books. +</p> +<p> +He took it into his head that the litter was a bier on which was borne +some sorely wounded or slain knight, to avenge whom was a task reserved +for him alone; and without any further reasoning he laid his lance in +rest, fixed himself firmly in his saddle, and with gallant spirit and +bearing took up his position in the middle of the road where the +encamisados must of necessity pass; and as soon as he saw them near at +hand he raised his voice and said: +</p> +<p> +“Halt, knights, or whosoever ye may be, and render me account of who ye +are, whence ye come, where ye go, what it is ye carry upon that bier, for, +to judge by appearances, either ye have done some wrong or some wrong has +been done to you, and it is fitting and necessary that I should know, +either that I may chastise you for the evil ye have done, or else that I +may avenge you for the injury that has been inflicted upon you.” +</p> +<p> +“We are in haste,” answered one of the encamisados, “and the inn is far +off, and we cannot stop to render you such an account as you demand;” and +spurring his mule he moved on. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote was mightily provoked by this answer, and seizing the mule by +the bridle he said, “Halt, and be more mannerly, and render an account of +what I have asked of you; else, take my defiance to combat, all of you.” +</p> +<p> +The mule was shy, and was so frightened at her bridle being seized that +rearing up she flung her rider to the ground over her haunches. An +attendant who was on foot, seeing the encamisado fall, began to abuse Don +Quixote, who now moved to anger, without any more ado, laying his lance in +rest charged one of the men in mourning and brought him badly wounded to +the ground, and as he wheeled round upon the others the agility with which +he attacked and routed them was a sight to see, for it seemed just as if +wings had that instant grown upon Rocinante, so lightly and proudly did he +bear himself. The encamisados were all timid folk and unarmed, so they +speedily made their escape from the fray and set off at a run across the +plain with their lighted torches, looking exactly like maskers running on +some gala or festival night. The mourners, too, enveloped and swathed in +their skirts and gowns, were unable to bestir themselves, and so with +entire safety to himself Don Quixote belaboured them all and drove them +off against their will, for they all thought it was no man but a devil +from hell come to carry away the dead body they had in the litter. +</p> +<p> +Sancho beheld all this in astonishment at the intrepidity of his lord, and +said to himself, “Clearly this master of mine is as bold and valiant as he +says he is.” +</p> +<p> +A burning torch lay on the ground near the first man whom the mule had +thrown, by the light of which Don Quixote perceived him, and coming up to +him he presented the point of the lance to his face, calling on him to +yield himself prisoner, or else he would kill him; to which the prostrate +man replied, “I am prisoner enough as it is; I cannot stir, for one of my +legs is broken: I entreat you, if you be a Christian gentleman, not to +kill me, which will be committing grave sacrilege, for I am a licentiate +and I hold first orders.” +</p> +<p> +“Then what the devil brought you here, being a churchman?” said Don +Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“What, señor?” said the other. “My bad luck.” +</p> +<p> +“Then still worse awaits you,” said Don Quixote, “if you do not satisfy me +as to all I asked you at first.” +</p> +<p> +“You shall be soon satisfied,” said the licentiate; “you must know, then, +that though just now I said I was a licentiate, I am only a bachelor, and +my name is Alonzo Lopez; I am a native of Alcobendas, I come from the city +of Baeza with eleven others, priests, the same who fled with the torches, +and we are going to the city of Segovia accompanying a dead body which is +in that litter, and is that of a gentleman who died in Baeza, where he was +interred; and now, as I said, we are taking his bones to their +burial-place, which is in Segovia, where he was born.” +</p> +<p> +“And who killed him?” asked Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“God, by means of a malignant fever that took him,” answered the bachelor. +</p> +<p> +“In that case,” said Don Quixote, “the Lord has relieved me of the task of +avenging his death had any other slain him; but, he who slew him having +slain him, there is nothing for it but to be silent, and shrug one’s +shoulders; I should do the same were he to slay myself; and I would have +your reverence know that I am a knight of La Mancha, Don Quixote by name, +and it is my business and calling to roam the world righting wrongs and +redressing injuries.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not know how that about righting wrongs can be,” said the bachelor, +“for from straight you have made me crooked, leaving me with a broken leg +that will never see itself straight again all the days of its life; and +the injury you have redressed in my case has been to leave me injured in +such a way that I shall remain injured for ever; and the height of +misadventure it was to fall in with you who go in search of adventures.” +</p> +<p> +“Things do not all happen in the same way,” answered Don Quixote; “it all +came, Sir Bachelor Alonzo Lopez, of your going, as you did, by night, +dressed in those surplices, with lighted torches, praying, covered with +mourning, so that naturally you looked like something evil and of the +other world; and so I could not avoid doing my duty in attacking you, and +I should have attacked you even had I known positively that you were the +very devils of hell, for such I certainly believed and took you to be.” +</p> +<p> +“As my fate has so willed it,” said the bachelor, “I entreat you, sir +knight-errant, whose errand has been such an evil one for me, to help me +to get from under this mule that holds one of my legs caught between the +stirrup and the saddle.” +</p> +<p> +“I would have talked on till to-morrow,” said Don Quixote; “how long were +you going to wait before telling me of your distress?” +</p> +<p> +He at once called to Sancho, who, however, had no mind to come, as he was +just then engaged in unloading a sumpter mule, well laden with provender, +which these worthy gentlemen had brought with them. Sancho made a bag of +his coat, and, getting together as much as he could, and as the bag would +hold, he loaded his beast, and then hastened to obey his master’s call, +and helped him to remove the bachelor from under the mule; then putting +him on her back he gave him the torch, and Don Quixote bade him follow the +track of his companions, and beg pardon of them on his part for the wrong +which he could not help doing them. +</p> +<p> +And said Sancho, “If by chance these gentlemen should want to know who was +the hero that served them so, your worship may tell them that he is the +famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of the Rueful +Countenance.” +</p> +<p> +The bachelor then took his departure. +</p> +<p> +I forgot to mention that before he did so he said to Don Quixote, +“Remember that you stand excommunicated for having laid violent hands on a +holy thing, juxta illud, si quis, suadente diabolo.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not understand that Latin,” answered Don Quixote, “but I know well I +did not lay hands, only this pike; besides, I did not think I was +committing an assault upon priests or things of the Church, which, like a +Catholic and faithful Christian as I am, I respect and revere, but upon +phantoms and spectres of the other world; but even so, I remember how it +fared with Cid Ruy Diaz when he broke the chair of the ambassador of that +king before his Holiness the Pope, who excommunicated him for the same; +and yet the good Roderick of Vivar bore himself that day like a very noble +and valiant knight.” +</p> +<p> +On hearing this the bachelor took his departure, as has been said, without +making any reply; and Don Quixote asked Sancho what had induced him to +call him the “Knight of the Rueful Countenance” more then than at any +other time. +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you,” answered Sancho; “it was because I have been looking at +you for some time by the light of the torch held by that unfortunate, and +verily your worship has got of late the most ill-favoured countenance I +ever saw: it must be either owing to the fatigue of this combat, or else +to the want of teeth and grinders.” +</p> +<p> +“It is not that,” replied Don Quixote, “but because the sage whose duty it +will be to write the history of my achievements must have thought it +proper that I should take some distinctive name as all knights of yore +did; one being ‘He of the Burning Sword,’ another ‘He of the Unicorn,’ +this one ‘He of the Damsels,’ that ‘He of the Phoenix,’ another ‘The +Knight of the Griffin,’ and another ‘He of the Death,’ and by these names +and designations they were known all the world round; and so I say that +the sage aforesaid must have put it into your mouth and mind just now to +call me ‘The Knight of the Rueful Countenance,’ as I intend to call myself +from this day forward; and that the said name may fit me better, I mean, +when the opportunity offers, to have a very rueful countenance painted on +my shield.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no occasion, señor, for wasting time or money on making that +countenance,” said Sancho; “for all that need be done is for your worship +to show your own, face to face, to those who look at you, and without +anything more, either image or shield, they will call you ‘Him of the +Rueful Countenance’ and believe me I am telling you the truth, for I +assure you, señor (and in good part be it said), hunger and the loss of +your grinders have given you such an ill-favoured face that, as I say, the +rueful picture may be very well spared.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s pleasantry; nevertheless he resolved to +call himself by that name, and have his shield or buckler painted as he +had devised. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote would have looked to see whether the body in the litter were +bones or not, but Sancho would not have it, saying: +</p> +<p> +“Señor, you have ended this perilous adventure more safely for yourself +than any of those I have seen: perhaps these people, though beaten and +routed, may bethink themselves that it is a single man that has beaten +them, and feeling sore and ashamed of it may take heart and come in search +of us and give us trouble enough. The ass is in proper trim, the mountains +are near at hand, hunger presses, we have nothing more to do but make good +our retreat, and, as the saying is, the dead to the grave and the living +to the loaf.” +</p> +<p> +And driving his ass before him he begged his master to follow, who, +feeling that Sancho was right, did so without replying; and after +proceeding some little distance between two hills they found themselves in +a wide and retired valley, where they alighted, and Sancho unloaded his +beast, and stretched upon the green grass, with hunger for sauce, they +breakfasted, dined, lunched, and supped all at once, satisfying their +appetites with more than one store of cold meat which the dead man’s +clerical gentlemen (who seldom put themselves on short allowance) had +brought with them on their sumpter mule. But another piece of ill-luck +befell them, which Sancho held the worst of all, and that was that they +had no wine to drink, nor even water to moisten their lips; and as thirst +tormented them, Sancho, observing that the meadow where they were was full +of green and tender grass, said what will be told in the following +chapter. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch20" id="ch20"></a>CHAPTER XX. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE UNEXAMPLED AND UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURE WHICH WAS ACHIEVED BY THE +VALIANT DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WITH LESS PERIL THAN ANY EVER ACHIEVED BY +ANY FAMOUS KNIGHT IN THE WORLD +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c19a" id="c19a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c19a.jpg (147K)" src="images/c19a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c19a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“It cannot be, señor, but that this grass is a proof that there must be +hard by some spring or brook to give it moisture, so it would be well to +move a little farther on, that we may find some place where we may quench +this terrible thirst that plagues us, which beyond a doubt is more +distressing than hunger.” +</p> +<p> +The advice seemed good to Don Quixote, and, he leading Rocinante by the +bridle and Sancho the ass by the halter, after he had packed away upon him +the remains of the supper, they advanced the meadow feeling their way, for +the darkness of the night made it impossible to see anything; but they had +not gone two hundred paces when a loud noise of water, as if falling from +great rocks, struck their ears. The sound cheered them greatly; but +halting to make out by listening from what quarter it came they heard +unseasonably another noise which spoiled the satisfaction the sound of the +water gave them, especially for Sancho, who was by nature timid and +faint-hearted. They heard, I say, strokes falling with a measured beat, +and a certain rattling of iron and chains that, together with the furious +din of the water, would have struck terror into any heart but Don +Quixote’s. The night was, as has been said, dark, and they had happened to +reach a spot in among some tall trees, whose leaves stirred by a gentle +breeze made a low ominous sound; so that, what with the solitude, the +place, the darkness, the noise of the water, and the rustling of the +leaves, everything inspired awe and dread; more especially as they +perceived that the strokes did not cease, nor the wind lull, nor morning +approach; to all which might be added their ignorance as to where they +were. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c19b" id="c19b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c19b.jpg (204K)" src="images/c19b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c19b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +But Don Quixote, supported by his intrepid heart, leaped on Rocinante, and +bracing his buckler on his arm, brought his pike to the slope, and said, +“Friend Sancho, know that I by Heaven’s will have been born in this our +iron age to revive in it the age of gold, or the golden as it is +called; I am he for whom perils, mighty achievements, and valiant deeds +are reserved; I am, I say again, he who is to revive the Knights of the +Round Table, the Twelve of France and the Nine Worthies; and he who is to +consign to oblivion the Platirs, the Tablantes, the Olivantes and +Tirantes, the Phoebuses and Belianises, with the whole herd of famous +knights-errant of days gone by, performing in these in which I live such +exploits, marvels, and feats of arms as shall obscure their brightest +deeds. Thou dost mark well, faithful and trusty squire, the gloom of this +night, its strange silence, the dull confused murmur of those trees, the +awful sound of that water in quest of which we came, that seems as though +it were precipitating and dashing itself down from the lofty mountains of +the Moon, and that incessant hammering that wounds and pains our ears; +which things all together and each of itself are enough to instil fear, +dread, and dismay into the breast of Mars himself, much more into one not +used to hazards and adventures of the kind. Well, then, all this that I +put before thee is but an incentive and stimulant to my spirit, making my +heart burst in my bosom through eagerness to engage in this adventure, +arduous as it promises to be; therefore tighten Rocinante’s girths a +little, and God be with thee; wait for me here three days and no more, and +if in that time I come not back, thou canst return to our village, and +thence, to do me a favour and a service, thou wilt go to El Toboso, where +thou shalt say to my incomparable lady Dulcinea that her captive knight +hath died in attempting things that might make him worthy of being called +hers.” +</p> +<p> +When Sancho heard his master’s words he began to weep in the most pathetic +way, saying: +</p> +<p> +“Señor, I know not why your worship wants to attempt this so dreadful +adventure; it is night now, no one sees us here, we can easily turn about +and take ourselves out of danger, even if we don’t drink for three days to +come; and as there is no one to see us, all the less will there be anyone +to set us down as cowards; besides, I have many a time heard the curate of +our village, whom your worship knows well, preach that he who seeks danger +perishes in it; so it is not right to tempt God by trying so tremendous a +feat from which there can be no escape save by a miracle, and Heaven has +performed enough of them for your worship in delivering you from being +blanketed as I was, and bringing you out victorious and safe and sound +from among all those enemies that were with the dead man; and if all this +does not move or soften that hard heart, let this thought and reflection +move it, that you will have hardly quitted this spot when from pure fear I +shall yield my soul up to anyone that will take it. I left home and wife +and children to come and serve your worship, trusting to do better and not +worse; but as covetousness bursts the bag, it has rent my hopes asunder, +for just as I had them highest about getting that wretched unlucky island +your worship has so often promised me, I see that instead and in lieu of +it you mean to desert me now in a place so far from human reach: for God’s +sake, master mine, deal not so unjustly by me, and if your worship will +not entirely give up attempting this feat, at least put it off till +morning, for by what the lore I learned when I was a shepherd tells me it +cannot want three hours of dawn now, because the mouth of the Horn is +overhead and makes midnight in the line of the left arm.” +</p> +<p> +“How canst thou see, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “where it makes that line, +or where this mouth or this occiput is that thou talkest of, when the +night is so dark that there is not a star to be seen in the whole heaven?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s true,” said Sancho, “but fear has sharp eyes, and sees things +underground, much more above in heavens; besides, there is good reason to +show that it now wants but little of day.” +</p> +<p> +“Let it want what it may,” replied Don Quixote, “it shall not be said of +me now or at any time that tears or entreaties turned me aside from doing +what was in accordance with knightly usage; and so I beg of thee, Sancho, +to hold thy peace, for God, who has put it into my heart to undertake now +this so unexampled and terrible adventure, will take care to watch over my +safety and console thy sorrow; what thou hast to do is to tighten +Rocinante’s girths well, and wait here, for I shall come back shortly, +alive or dead.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho perceiving it his master’s final resolve, and how little his tears, +counsels, and entreaties prevailed with him, determined to have recourse +to his own ingenuity and compel him, if he could, to wait till daylight; +and so, while tightening the girths of the horse, he quietly and without +being felt, with his ass’ halter tied both Rocinante’s legs, so that when +Don Quixote strove to go he was unable as the horse could only move by +jumps. Seeing the success of his trick, Sancho Panza said: +</p> +<p> +“See there, señor! Heaven, moved by my tears and prayers, has so ordered +it that Rocinante cannot stir; and if you will be obstinate, and spur and +strike him, you will only provoke fortune, and kick, as they say, against +the pricks.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote at this grew desperate, but the more he drove his heels into +the horse, the less he stirred him; and not having any suspicion of the +tying, he was fain to resign himself and wait till daybreak or until +Rocinante could move, firmly persuaded that all this came of something +other than Sancho’s ingenuity. So he said to him, “As it is so, Sancho, +and as Rocinante cannot move, I am content to wait till dawn smiles upon +us, even though I weep while it delays its coming.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no need to weep,” answered Sancho, “for I will amuse your +worship by telling stories from this till daylight, unless indeed you like +to dismount and lie down to sleep a little on the green grass after the +fashion of knights-errant, so as to be fresher when day comes and the +moment arrives for attempting this extraordinary adventure you are looking +forward to.” +</p> +<p> +“What art thou talking about dismounting or sleeping for?” said Don +Quixote. “Am I, thinkest thou, one of those knights that take their rest +in the presence of danger? Sleep thou who art born to sleep, or do as thou +wilt, for I will act as I think most consistent with my character.” +</p> +<p> +“Be not angry, master mine,” replied Sancho, “I did not mean to say that;” +and coming close to him he laid one hand on the pommel of the saddle and +the other on the cantle so that he held his master’s left thigh in his +embrace, not daring to separate a finger’s width from him; so much afraid +was he of the strokes which still resounded with a regular beat. Don +Quixote bade him tell some story to amuse him as he had proposed, to which +Sancho replied that he would if his dread of what he heard would let him; +“Still,” said he, “I will strive to tell a story which, if I can manage to +relate it, and nobody interferes with the telling, is the best of stories, +and let your worship give me your attention, for here I begin. What was, +was; and may the good that is to come be for all, and the evil for him who +goes to look for it—your worship must know that the beginning the +old folk used to put to their tales was not just as each one pleased; it +was a maxim of Cato Zonzorino the Roman, that says ‘the evil for him that +goes to look for it,’ and it comes as pat to the purpose now as ring to +finger, to show that your worship should keep quiet and not go looking for +evil in any quarter, and that we should go back by some other road, since +nobody forces us to follow this in which so many terrors affright us.” +</p> +<p> +“Go on with thy story, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and leave the choice of +our road to my care.” +</p> +<p> +“I say then,” continued Sancho, “that in a village of Estremadura there +was a goat-shepherd—that is to say, one who tended goats—which +shepherd or goatherd, as my story goes, was called Lope Ruiz, and this +Lope Ruiz was in love with a shepherdess called Torralva, which +shepherdess called Torralva was the daughter of a rich grazier, and this +rich grazier—” +</p> +<p> +“If that is the way thou tellest thy tale, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, +“repeating twice all thou hast to say, thou wilt not have done these two +days; go straight on with it, and tell it like a reasonable man, or else +say nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“Tales are always told in my country in the very way I am telling this,” +answered Sancho, “and I cannot tell it in any other, nor is it right of +your worship to ask me to make new customs.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell it as thou wilt,” replied Don Quixote; “and as fate will have it +that I cannot help listening to thee, go on.” +</p> +<p> +“And so, lord of my soul,” continued Sancho, as I have said, this shepherd +was in love with Torralva the shepherdess, who was a wild buxom lass with +something of the look of a man about her, for she had little moustaches; I +fancy I see her now.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you knew her?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“I did not know her,” said Sancho, “but he who told me the story said it +was so true and certain that when I told it to another I might safely +declare and swear I had seen it all myself. And so in course of time, the +devil, who never sleeps and puts everything in confusion, contrived that +the love the shepherd bore the shepherdess turned into hatred and +ill-will, and the reason, according to evil tongues, was some little +jealousy she caused him that crossed the line and trespassed on forbidden +ground; and so much did the shepherd hate her from that time forward that, +in order to escape from her, he determined to quit the country and go +where he should never set eyes on her again. Torralva, when she found +herself spurned by Lope, was immediately smitten with love for him, though +she had never loved him before.” +</p> +<p> +“That is the natural way of women,” said Don Quixote, “to scorn the one +that loves them, and love the one that hates them: go on, Sancho.” +</p> +<p> +“It came to pass,” said Sancho, “that the shepherd carried out his +intention, and driving his goats before him took his way across the plains +of Estremadura to pass over into the Kingdom of Portugal. Torralva, who +knew of it, went after him, and on foot and barefoot followed him at a +distance, with a pilgrim’s staff in her hand and a scrip round her neck, +in which she carried, it is said, a bit of looking-glass and a piece of a +comb and some little pot or other of paint for her face; but let her carry +what she did, I am not going to trouble myself to prove it; all I say is, +that the shepherd, they say, came with his flock to cross over the river +Guadiana, which was at that time swollen and almost overflowing its banks, +and at the spot he came to there was neither ferry nor boat nor anyone to +carry him or his flock to the other side, at which he was much vexed, for +he perceived that Torralva was approaching and would give him great +annoyance with her tears and entreaties; however, he went looking about so +closely that he discovered a fisherman who had alongside of him a boat so +small that it could only hold one person and one goat; but for all that he +spoke to him and agreed with him to carry himself and his three hundred +goats across. The fisherman got into the boat and carried one goat over; +he came back and carried another over; he came back again, and again +brought over another—let your worship keep count of the goats the +fisherman is taking across, for if one escapes the memory there will be an +end of the story, and it will be impossible to tell another word of it. To +proceed, I must tell you the landing place on the other side was miry and +slippery, and the fisherman lost a great deal of time in going and coming; +still he returned for another goat, and another, and another.” +</p> +<p> +“Take it for granted he brought them all across,” said Don Quixote, “and +don’t keep going and coming in this way, or thou wilt not make an end of +bringing them over this twelvemonth.” +</p> +<p> +“How many have gone across so far?” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“How the devil do I know?” replied Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“There it is,” said Sancho, “what I told you, that you must keep a good +count; well then, by God, there is an end of the story, for there is no +going any farther.” +</p> +<p> +“How can that be?” said Don Quixote; “is it so essential to the story to +know to a nicety the goats that have crossed over, that if there be a +mistake of one in the reckoning, thou canst not go on with it?” +</p> +<p> +“No, señor, not a bit,” replied Sancho; “for when I asked your worship to +tell me how many goats had crossed, and you answered you did not know, at +that very instant all I had to say passed away out of my memory, and, +faith, there was much virtue in it, and entertainment.” +</p> +<p> +“So, then,” said Don Quixote, “the story has come to an end?” +</p> +<p> +“As much as my mother has,” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“In truth,” said Don Quixote, “thou hast told one of the rarest stories, +tales, or histories, that anyone in the world could have imagined, and +such a way of telling it and ending it was never seen nor will be in a +lifetime; though I expected nothing else from thy excellent understanding. +But I do not wonder, for perhaps those ceaseless strokes may have confused +thy wits.” +</p> +<p> +“All that may be,” replied Sancho, “but I know that as to my story, all +that can be said is that it ends there where the mistake in the count of +the passage of the goats begins.” +</p> +<p> +“Let it end where it will, well and good,” said Don Quixote, “and let us +see if Rocinante can go;” and again he spurred him, and again Rocinante +made jumps and remained where he was, so well tied was he. +</p> +<p> +Just then, whether it was the cold of the morning that was now +approaching, or that he had eaten something laxative at supper, or that it +was only natural (as is most likely), Sancho felt a desire to do what no +one could do for him; but so great was the fear that had penetrated his +heart, he dared not separate himself from his master by as much as the +black of his nail; to escape doing what he wanted was, however, also +impossible; so what he did for peace’s sake was to remove his right hand, +which held the back of the saddle, and with it to untie gently and +silently the running string which alone held up his breeches, so that on +loosening it they at once fell down round his feet like fetters; he then +raised his shirt as well as he could and bared his hind quarters, no slim +ones. But, this accomplished, which he fancied was all he had to do to get +out of this terrible strait and embarrassment, another still greater +difficulty presented itself, for it seemed to him impossible to relieve +himself without making some noise, and he ground his teeth and squeezed +his shoulders together, holding his breath as much as he could; but in +spite of his precautions he was unlucky enough after all to make a little +noise, very different from that which was causing him so much fear. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c19c" id="c19c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c19c.jpg (308K)" src="images/c19c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c19c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote, hearing it, said, “What noise is that, Sancho?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, señor,” said he; “it must be something new, for adventures +and misadventures never begin with a trifle.” Once more he tried his luck, +and succeeded so well, that without any further noise or disturbance he +found himself relieved of the burden that had given him so much +discomfort. But as Don Quixote’s sense of smell was as acute as his +hearing, and as Sancho was so closely linked with him that the fumes rose +almost in a straight line, it could not be but that some should reach his +nose, and as soon as they did he came to its relief by compressing it +between his fingers, saying in a rather snuffing tone, “Sancho, it strikes +me thou art in great fear.” +</p> +<p> +“I am,” answered Sancho; “but how does your worship perceive it now more +than ever?” +</p> +<p> +“Because just now thou smellest stronger than ever, and not of ambergris,” +answered Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Very likely,” said Sancho, “but that’s not my fault, but your worship’s, +for leading me about at unseasonable hours and at such unwonted paces.” +</p> +<p> +“Then go back three or four, my friend,” said Don Quixote, all the time +with his fingers to his nose; “and for the future pay more attention to +thy person and to what thou owest to mine; for it is my great familiarity +with thee that has bred this contempt.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll bet,” replied Sancho, “that your worship thinks I have done +something I ought not with my person.” +</p> +<p> +“It makes it worse to stir it, friend Sancho,” returned Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +With this and other talk of the same sort master and man passed the night, +till Sancho, perceiving that daybreak was coming on apace, very cautiously +untied Rocinante and tied up his breeches. As soon as Rocinante found +himself free, though by nature he was not at all mettlesome, he seemed to +feel lively and began pawing—for as to capering, begging his pardon, +he knew not what it meant. Don Quixote, then, observing that Rocinante +could move, took it as a good sign and a signal that he should attempt the +dread adventure. By this time day had fully broken and everything showed +distinctly, and Don Quixote saw that he was among some tall trees, +chestnuts, which cast a very deep shade; he perceived likewise that the +sound of the strokes did not cease, but could not discover what caused it, +and so without any further delay he let Rocinante feel the spur, and once +more taking leave of Sancho, he told him to wait for him there three days +at most, as he had said before, and if he should not have returned by that +time, he might feel sure it had been God’s will that he should end his +days in that perilous adventure. He again repeated the message and +commission with which he was to go on his behalf to his lady Dulcinea, and +said he was not to be uneasy as to the payment of his services, for before +leaving home he had made his will, in which he would find himself fully +recompensed in the matter of wages in due proportion to the time he had +served; but if God delivered him safe, sound, and unhurt out of that +danger, he might look upon the promised island as much more than certain. +Sancho began to weep afresh on again hearing the affecting words of his +good master, and resolved to stay with him until the final issue and end +of the business. From these tears and this honourable resolve of Sancho +Panza’s the author of this history infers that he must have been of good +birth and at least an old Christian; and the feeling he displayed touched +his but not so much as to make him show any weakness; on the contrary, +hiding what he felt as well as he could, he began to move towards that +quarter whence the sound of the water and of the strokes seemed to come. +</p> +<p> +Sancho followed him on foot, leading by the halter, as his custom was, his +ass, his constant comrade in prosperity or adversity; and advancing some +distance through the shady chestnut trees they came upon a little meadow +at the foot of some high rocks, down which a mighty rush of water flung +itself. At the foot of the rocks were some rudely constructed houses +looking more like ruins than houses, from among which came, they +perceived, the din and clatter of blows, which still continued without +intermission. Rocinante took fright at the noise of the water and of the +blows, but quieting him Don Quixote advanced step by step towards the +houses, commending himself with all his heart to his lady, imploring her +support in that dread pass and enterprise, and on the way commending +himself to God, too, not to forget him. Sancho who never quitted his side, +stretched his neck as far as he could and peered between the legs of +Rocinante to see if he could now discover what it was that caused him such +fear and apprehension. They went it might be a hundred paces farther, when +on turning a corner the true cause, beyond the possibility of any mistake, +of that dread-sounding and to them awe-inspiring noise that had kept them +all the night in such fear and perplexity, appeared plain and obvious; and +it was (if, reader, thou art not disgusted and disappointed) six fulling +hammers which by their alternate strokes made all the din. +</p> +<p> +When Don Quixote perceived what it was, he was struck dumb and rigid from +head to foot. Sancho glanced at him and saw him with his head bent down +upon his breast in manifest mortification; and Don Quixote glanced at +Sancho and saw him with his cheeks puffed out and his mouth full of +laughter, and evidently ready to explode with it, and in spite of his +vexation he could not help laughing at the sight of him; and when Sancho +saw his master begin he let go so heartily that he had to hold his sides +with both hands to keep himself from bursting with laughter. Four times he +stopped, and as many times did his laughter break out afresh with the same +violence as at first, whereat Don Quixote grew furious, above all when he +heard him say mockingly, “Thou must know, friend Sancho, that of Heaven’s +will I was born in this our iron age to revive in it the golden or age of +gold; I am he for whom are reserved perils, mighty achievements, valiant +deeds;” and here he went on repeating the words that Don Quixote uttered +the first time they heard the awful strokes. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote, then, seeing that Sancho was turning him into ridicule, was +so mortified and vexed that he lifted up his pike and smote him two such +blows that if, instead of catching them on his shoulders, he had caught +them on his head there would have been no wages to pay, unless indeed to +his heirs. Sancho seeing that he was getting an awkward return in earnest +for his jest, and fearing his master might carry it still further, said to +him very humbly, “Calm yourself, sir, for by God I am only joking.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, if you are joking I am not,” replied Don Quixote. “Look here, +my lively gentleman, if these, instead of being fulling hammers, had been +some perilous adventure, have I not, think you, shown the courage required +for the attempt and achievement? Am I, perchance, being, as I am, a +gentleman, bound to know and distinguish sounds and tell whether they come +from fulling mills or not; and that, when perhaps, as is the case, I have +never in my life seen any as you have, low boor as you are, that have been +born and bred among them? But turn me these six hammers into six giants, +and bring them to beard me, one by one or all together, and if I do not +knock them head over heels, then make what mockery you like of me.” +</p> +<p> +“No more of that, señor,” returned Sancho; “I own I went a little too far +with the joke. But tell me, your worship, now that peace is made between +us (and may God bring you out of all the adventures that may befall you as +safe and sound as he has brought you out of this one), was it not a thing +to laugh at, and is it not a good story, the great fear we were in?—at +least that I was in; for as to your worship I see now that you neither +know nor understand what either fear or dismay is.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not deny,” said Don Quixote, “that what happened to us may be worth +laughing at, but it is not worth making a story about, for it is not +everyone that is shrewd enough to hit the right point of a thing.” +</p> +<p> +“At any rate,” said Sancho, “your worship knew how to hit the right point +with your pike, aiming at my head and hitting me on the shoulders, thanks +be to God and my own smartness in dodging it. But let that pass; all will +come out in the scouring; for I have heard say ‘he loves thee well that +makes thee weep;’ and moreover that it is the way with great lords after +any hard words they give a servant to give him a pair of breeches; though +I do not know what they give after blows, unless it be that knights-errant +after blows give islands, or kingdoms on the mainland.” +</p> +<p> +“It may be on the dice,” said Don Quixote, “that all thou sayest will come +true; overlook the past, for thou art shrewd enough to know that our first +movements are not in our own control; and one thing for the future bear in +mind, that thou curb and restrain thy loquacity in my company; for in all +the books of chivalry that I have read, and they are innumerable, I never +met with a squire who talked so much to his lord as thou dost to thine; +and in fact I feel it to be a great fault of thine and of mine: of thine, +that thou hast so little respect for me; of mine, that I do not make +myself more respected. There was Gandalin, the squire of Amadis of Gaul, +that was Count of the Insula Firme, and we read of him that he always +addressed his lord with his cap in his hand, his head bowed down and his +body bent double, more turquesco. And then, what shall we say of Gasabal, +the squire of Galaor, who was so silent that in order to indicate to us +the greatness of his marvellous taciturnity his name is only once +mentioned in the whole of that history, as long as it is truthful? From +all I have said thou wilt gather, Sancho, that there must be a difference +between master and man, between lord and lackey, between knight and +squire: so that from this day forward in our intercourse we must observe +more respect and take less liberties, for in whatever way I may be +provoked with you it will be bad for the pitcher. The favours and benefits +that I have promised you will come in due time, and if they do not your +wages at least will not be lost, as I have already told you.” +</p> +<p> +“All that your worship says is very well,” said Sancho, “but I should like +to know (in case the time of favours should not come, and it might be +necessary to fall back upon wages) how much did the squire of a +knight-errant get in those days, and did they agree by the month, or by +the day like bricklayers?” +</p> +<p> +“I do not believe,” replied Don Quixote, “that such squires were ever on +wages, but were dependent on favour; and if I have now mentioned thine in +the sealed will I have left at home, it was with a view to what may +happen; for as yet I know not how chivalry will turn out in these wretched +times of ours, and I do not wish my soul to suffer for trifles in the +other world; for I would have thee know, Sancho, that in this there is no +condition more hazardous than that of adventurers.” +</p> +<p> +“That is true,” said Sancho, “since the mere noise of the hammers of a +fulling mill can disturb and disquiet the heart of such a valiant errant +adventurer as your worship; but you may be sure I will not open my lips +henceforward to make light of anything of your worship’s, but only to +honour you as my master and natural lord.” +</p> +<p> +“By so doing,” replied Don Quixote, “shalt thou live long on the face of +the earth; for next to parents, masters are to be respected as though they +were parents.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c19e" id="c19e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c19e.jpg (33K)" src="images/c19e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch21" id="ch21"></a>CHAPTER XXI. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF THE EXALTED ADVENTURE AND RICH PRIZE OF MAMBRINO’S HELMET, +TOGETHER WITH OTHER THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO OUR INVINCIBLE KNIGHT +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c20a" id="c20a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c20a.jpg (73K)" src="images/c20a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c20a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +It now began to rain a little, and Sancho was for going into the fulling +mills, but Don Quixote had taken such an abhorrence to them on account of +the late joke that he would not enter them on any account; so turning +aside to right they came upon another road, different from that which they +had taken the night before. Shortly afterwards Don Quixote perceived a man +on horseback who wore on his head something that shone like gold, and the +moment he saw him he turned to Sancho and said: +</p> +<p> +“I think, Sancho, there is no proverb that is not true, all being maxims +drawn from experience itself, the mother of all the sciences, especially +that one that says, ‘Where one door shuts, another opens.’ I say so +because if last night fortune shut the door of the adventure we were +looking for against us, cheating us with the fulling mills, it now opens +wide another one for another better and more certain adventure, and if I +do not contrive to enter it, it will be my own fault, and I cannot lay it +to my ignorance of fulling mills, or the darkness of the night. I say this +because, if I mistake not, there comes towards us one who wears on his +head the helmet of Mambrino, concerning which I took the oath thou +rememberest.” +</p> +<p> +“Mind what you say, your worship, and still more what you do,” said +Sancho, “for I don’t want any more fulling mills to finish off fulling and +knocking our senses out.” +</p> +<p> +“The devil take thee, man,” said Don Quixote; “what has a helmet to do +with fulling mills?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know,” replied Sancho, “but, faith, if I might speak as I used, +perhaps I could give such reasons that your worship would see you were +mistaken in what you say.” +</p> +<p> +“How can I be mistaken in what I say, unbelieving traitor?” returned Don +Quixote; “tell me, seest thou not yonder knight coming towards us on a +dappled grey steed, who has upon his head a helmet of gold?” +</p> +<p> +“What I see and make out,” answered Sancho, “is only a man on a grey ass +like my own, who has something that shines on his head.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that is the helmet of Mambrino,” said Don Quixote; “stand to one +side and leave me alone with him; thou shalt see how, without saying a +word, to save time, I shall bring this adventure to an issue and possess +myself of the helmet I have so longed for.” +</p> +<p> +“I will take care to stand aside,” said Sancho; “but God grant, I say once +more, that it may be marjoram and not fulling mills.” +</p> +<p> +“I have told thee, brother, on no account to mention those fulling mills +to me again,” said Don Quixote, “or I vow—and I say no more—I’ll +full the soul out of you.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho held his peace in dread lest his master should carry out the vow he +had hurled like a bowl at him. +</p> +<p> +The fact of the matter as regards the helmet, steed, and knight that Don +Quixote saw, was this. In that neighbourhood there were two villages, one +of them so small that it had neither apothecary’s shop nor barber, which +the other that was close to it had, so the barber of the larger served the +smaller, and in it there was a sick man who required to be bled and +another man who wanted to be shaved, and on this errand the barber was +going, carrying with him a brass basin; but as luck would have it, as he +was on the way it began to rain, and not to spoil his hat, which probably +was a new one, he put the basin on his head, and being clean it glittered +at half a league’s distance. He rode upon a grey ass, as Sancho said, and +this was what made it seem to Don Quixote to be a dapple-grey steed and a +knight and a golden helmet; for everything he saw he made to fall in with +his crazy chivalry and ill-errant notions; and when he saw the poor knight +draw near, without entering into any parley with him, at Rocinante’s top +speed he bore down upon him with the pike pointed low, fully determined to +run him through and through, and as he reached him, without checking the +fury of his charge, he cried to him: +</p> +<p> +“Defend thyself, miserable being, or yield me of thine own accord that +which is so reasonably my due.” +</p> +<p> +The barber, who without any expectation or apprehension of it saw this +apparition coming down upon him, had no other way of saving himself from +the stroke of the lance but to let himself fall off his ass; and no sooner +had he touched the ground than he sprang up more nimbly than a deer and +sped away across the plain faster than the wind. +</p> +<p> +He left the basin on the ground, with which Don Quixote contented himself, +saying that the pagan had shown his discretion and imitated the beaver, +which finding itself pressed by the hunters bites and cuts off with its +teeth that for which, by its natural instinct, it knows it is pursued. +</p> +<p> +He told Sancho to pick up the helmet, and he taking it in his hands said: +</p> +<p> +“By God the basin is a good one, and worth a real of eight if it is worth +a maravedis,” and handed it to his master, who immediately put it on his +head, turning it round, now this way, now that, in search of fitment, and +not finding it he said, “Clearly the pagan to whose measure this famous +head-piece was first forged must have had a very large head; but the worst +of it is half of it is wanting.” +</p> +<p> +When Sancho heard him call the basin a headpiece he was unable to restrain +his laughter, but remembering his master’s wrath he checked himself in the +midst of it. +</p> +<p> +“What art thou laughing at, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“I am laughing,” said he, “to think of the great head the pagan must have +had who owned this helmet, for it looks exactly like a regular barber’s +basin.” +</p> +<p> +“Dost thou know what I suspect, Sancho?” said Don Quixote; “that this +wonderful piece of this enchanted helmet must by some strange accident +have come into the hands of some one who was unable to recognise or +realise its value, and who, not knowing what he did, and seeing it to be +of the purest gold, must have melted down one half for the sake of what it +might be worth, and of the other made this which is like a barber’s basin +as thou sayest; but be it as it may, to me who recognise it, its +transformation makes no difference, for I will set it to rights at the +first village where there is a blacksmith, and in such style that that +helmet the god of smithies forged for the god of battles shall not surpass +it or even come up to it; and in the meantime I will wear it as well as I +can, for something is better than nothing; all the more as it will be +quite enough to protect me from any chance blow of a stone.” +</p> +<p> +“That is,” said Sancho, “if it is not shot with a sling as they were in +the battle of the two armies, when they signed the cross on your worship’s +grinders and smashed the flask with that blessed draught that made me +vomit my bowels up.” +</p> +<p> +“It does not grieve me much to have lost it,” said Don Quixote, “for thou +knowest, Sancho, that I have the receipt in my memory.” +</p> +<p> +“So have I,” answered Sancho, “but if ever I make it, or try it again as +long as I live, may this be my last hour; moreover, I have no intention of +putting myself in the way of wanting it, for I mean, with all my five +senses, to keep myself from being wounded or from wounding anyone: as to +being blanketed again I say nothing, for it is hard to prevent mishaps of +that sort, and if they come there is nothing for it but to squeeze our +shoulders together, hold our breath, shut our eyes, and let ourselves go +where luck and the blanket may send us.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou art a bad Christian, Sancho,” said Don Quixote on hearing this, “for +once an injury has been done thee thou never forgettest it: but know that +it is the part of noble and generous hearts not to attach importance to +trifles. What lame leg hast thou got by it, what broken rib, what cracked +head, that thou canst not forget that jest? For jest and sport it was, +properly regarded, and had I not seen it in that light I would have +returned and done more mischief in revenging thee than the Greeks did for +the rape of Helen, who, if she were alive now, or if my Dulcinea had lived +then, might depend upon it she would not be so famous for her beauty as +she is;” and here he heaved a sigh and sent it aloft; and said Sancho, +“Let it pass for a jest as it cannot be revenged in earnest, but I know +what sort of jest and earnest it was, and I know it will never be rubbed +out of my memory any more than off my shoulders. But putting that aside, +will your worship tell me what are we to do with this dapple-grey steed +that looks like a grey ass, which that Martino that your worship overthrew +has left deserted here? for, from the way he took to his heels and bolted, +he is not likely ever to come back for it; and by my beard but the grey is +a good one.” +</p> +<p> +“I have never been in the habit,” said Don Quixote, “of taking spoil of +those whom I vanquish, nor is it the practice of chivalry to take away +their horses and leave them to go on foot, unless indeed it be that the +victor have lost his own in the combat, in which case it is lawful to take +that of the vanquished as a thing won in lawful war; therefore, Sancho, +leave this horse, or ass, or whatever thou wilt have it to be; for when +its owner sees us gone hence he will come back for it.” +</p> +<p> +“God knows I should like to take it,” returned Sancho, “or at least to +change it for my own, which does not seem to me as good a one: verily the +laws of chivalry are strict, since they cannot be stretched to let one ass +be changed for another; I should like to know if I might at least change +trappings.” +</p> +<p> +“On that head I am not quite certain,” answered Don Quixote, “and the +matter being doubtful, pending better information, I say thou mayest +change them, if so be thou hast urgent need of them.” +</p> +<p> +“So urgent is it,” answered Sancho, “that if they were for my own person I +could not want them more;” and forthwith, fortified by this licence, he +effected the mutatio capparum, rigging out his beast to the ninety-nines +and making quite another thing of it. This done, they broke their fast on +the remains of the spoils of war plundered from the sumpter mule, and +drank of the brook that flowed from the fulling mills, without casting a +look in that direction, in such loathing did they hold them for the alarm +they had caused them; and, all anger and gloom removed, they mounted and, +without taking any fixed road (not to fix upon any being the proper thing +for true knights-errant), they set out, guided by Rocinante’s will, which +carried along with it that of his master, not to say that of the ass, +which always followed him wherever he led, lovingly and sociably; +nevertheless they returned to the high road, and pursued it at a venture +without any other aim. +</p> +<p> +As they went along, then, in this way Sancho said to his master, “Señor, +would your worship give me leave to speak a little to you? For since you +laid that hard injunction of silence on me several things have gone to rot +in my stomach, and I have now just one on the tip of my tongue that I +don’t want to be spoiled.” +</p> +<p> +“Say, on, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and be brief in thy discourse, for +there is no pleasure in one that is long.” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, señor,” returned Sancho, “I say that for some days past I have +been considering how little is got or gained by going in search of these +adventures that your worship seeks in these wilds and cross-roads, where, +even if the most perilous are victoriously achieved, there is no one to +see or know of them, and so they must be left untold for ever, to the loss +of your worship’s object and the credit they deserve; therefore it seems +to me it would be better (saving your worship’s better judgment) if we +were to go and serve some emperor or other great prince who may have some +war on hand, in whose service your worship may prove the worth of your +person, your great might, and greater understanding, on perceiving which +the lord in whose service we may be will perforce have to reward us, each +according to his merits; and there you will not be at a loss for some one +to set down your achievements in writing so as to preserve their memory +for ever. Of my own I say nothing, as they will not go beyond squirely +limits, though I make bold to say that, if it be the practice in chivalry +to write the achievements of squires, I think mine must not be left out.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou speakest not amiss, Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “but before that +point is reached it is requisite to roam the world, as it were on +probation, seeking adventures, in order that, by achieving some, name and +fame may be acquired, such that when he betakes himself to the court of +some great monarch the knight may be already known by his deeds, and that +the boys, the instant they see him enter the gate of the city, may all +follow him and surround him, crying, ‘This is the Knight of the Sun’-or +the Serpent, or any other title under which he may have achieved great +deeds. ‘This,’ they will say, ‘is he who vanquished in single combat the +gigantic Brocabruno of mighty strength; he who delivered the great +Mameluke of Persia out of the long enchantment under which he had been for +almost nine hundred years.’ So from one to another they will go +proclaiming his achievements; and presently at the tumult of the boys and +the others the king of that kingdom will appear at the windows of his +royal palace, and as soon as he beholds the knight, recognising him by his +arms and the device on his shield, he will as a matter of course say, +‘What ho! Forth all ye, the knights of my court, to receive the flower of +chivalry who cometh hither!’ At which command all will issue forth, and he +himself, advancing half-way down the stairs, will embrace him closely, and +salute him, kissing him on the cheek, and will then lead him to the +queen’s chamber, where the knight will find her with the princess her +daughter, who will be one of the most beautiful and accomplished damsels +that could with the utmost pains be discovered anywhere in the known +world. Straightway it will come to pass that she will fix her eyes upon +the knight and he his upon her, and each will seem to the other something +more divine than human, and, without knowing how or why they will be taken +and entangled in the inextricable toils of love, and sorely distressed in +their hearts not to see any way of making their pains and sufferings known +by speech. Thence they will lead him, no doubt, to some richly adorned +chamber of the palace, where, having removed his armour, they will bring +him a rich mantle of scarlet wherewith to robe himself, and if he looked +noble in his armour he will look still more so in a doublet. When night +comes he will sup with the king, queen, and princess; and all the time he +will never take his eyes off her, stealing stealthy glances, unnoticed by +those present, and she will do the same, and with equal cautiousness, +being, as I have said, a damsel of great discretion. The tables being +removed, suddenly through the door of the hall there will enter a hideous +and diminutive dwarf followed by a fair dame, between two giants, who +comes with a certain adventure, the work of an ancient sage; and he who +shall achieve it shall be deemed the best knight in the world. +</p> +<p> +“The king will then command all those present to essay it, and none will +bring it to an end and conclusion save the stranger knight, to the great +enhancement of his fame, whereat the princess will be overjoyed and will +esteem herself happy and fortunate in having fixed and placed her thoughts +so high. And the best of it is that this king, or prince, or whatever he +is, is engaged in a very bitter war with another as powerful as himself, +and the stranger knight, after having been some days at his court, +requests leave from him to go and serve him in the said war. The king will +grant it very readily, and the knight will courteously kiss his hands for +the favour done to him; and that night he will take leave of his lady the +princess at the grating of the chamber where she sleeps, which looks upon +a garden, and at which he has already many times conversed with her, the +go-between and confidante in the matter being a damsel much trusted by the +princess. He will sigh, she will swoon, the damsel will fetch water, much +distressed because morning approaches, and for the honour of her lady he +would not that they were discovered; at last the princess will come to +herself and will present her white hands through the grating to the +knight, who will kiss them a thousand and a thousand times, bathing them +with his tears. It will be arranged between them how they are to inform +each other of their good or evil fortunes, and the princess will entreat +him to make his absence as short as possible, which he will promise to do +with many oaths; once more he kisses her hands, and takes his leave in +such grief that he is well-nigh ready to die. He betakes him thence to his +chamber, flings himself on his bed, cannot sleep for sorrow at parting, +rises early in the morning, goes to take leave of the king, queen, and +princess, and, as he takes his leave of the pair, it is told him that the +princess is indisposed and cannot receive a visit; the knight thinks it is +from grief at his departure, his heart is pierced, and he is hardly able +to keep from showing his pain. The confidante is present, observes all, +goes to tell her mistress, who listens with tears and says that one of her +greatest distresses is not knowing who this knight is, and whether he is +of kingly lineage or not; the damsel assures her that so much courtesy, +gentleness, and gallantry of bearing as her knight possesses could not +exist in any save one who was royal and illustrious; her anxiety is thus +relieved, and she strives to be of good cheer lest she should excite +suspicion in her parents, and at the end of two days she appears in +public. Meanwhile the knight has taken his departure; he fights in the +war, conquers the king’s enemy, wins many cities, triumphs in many +battles, returns to the court, sees his lady where he was wont to see her, +and it is agreed that he shall demand her in marriage of her parents as +the reward of his services; the king is unwilling to give her, as he knows +not who he is, but nevertheless, whether carried off or in whatever other +way it may be, the princess comes to be his bride, and her father comes to +regard it as very good fortune; for it so happens that this knight is +proved to be the son of a valiant king of some kingdom, I know not what, +for I fancy it is not likely to be on the map. The father dies, the +princess inherits, and in two words the knight becomes king. And here +comes in at once the bestowal of rewards upon his squire and all who have +aided him in rising to so exalted a rank. He marries his squire to a +damsel of the princess’s, who will be, no doubt, the one who was +confidante in their amour, and is daughter of a very great duke.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s what I want, and no mistake about it!” said Sancho. “That’s what +I’m waiting for; for all this, word for word, is in store for your worship +under the title of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou needst not doubt it, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “for in the same +manner, and by the same steps as I have described here, knights-errant +rise and have risen to be kings and emperors; all we want now is to find +out what king, Christian or pagan, is at war and has a beautiful daughter; +but there will be time enough to think of that, for, as I have told thee, +fame must be won in other quarters before repairing to the court. There is +another thing, too, that is wanting; for supposing we find a king who is +at war and has a beautiful daughter, and that I have won incredible fame +throughout the universe, I know not how it can be made out that I am of +royal lineage, or even second cousin to an emperor; for the king will not +be willing to give me his daughter in marriage unless he is first +thoroughly satisfied on this point, however much my famous deeds may +deserve it; so that by this deficiency I fear I shall lose what my arm has +fairly earned. True it is I am a gentleman of known house, of estate and +property, and entitled to the five hundred sueldos mulct; and it may be +that the sage who shall write my history will so clear up my ancestry and +pedigree that I may find myself fifth or sixth in descent from a king; for +I would have thee know, Sancho, that there are two kinds of lineages in +the world; some there be tracing and deriving their descent from kings and +princes, whom time has reduced little by little until they end in a point +like a pyramid upside down; and others who spring from the common herd and +go on rising step by step until they come to be great lords; so that the +difference is that the one were what they no longer are, and the others +are what they formerly were not. And I may be of such that after +investigation my origin may prove great and famous, with which the king, +my father-in-law that is to be, ought to be satisfied; and should he not +be, the princess will so love me that even though she well knew me to be +the son of a water-carrier, she will take me for her lord and husband in +spite of her father; if not, then it comes to seizing her and carrying her +off where I please; for time or death will put an end to the wrath of her +parents.” +</p> +<p> +“It comes to this, too,” said Sancho, “what some naughty people say, +‘Never ask as a favour what thou canst take by force;’ though it would fit +better to say, ‘A clear escape is better than good men’s prayers.’ I say +so because if my lord the king, your worship’s father-in-law, will not +condescend to give you my lady the princess, there is nothing for it but, +as your worship says, to seize her and transport her. But the mischief is +that until peace is made and you come into the peaceful enjoyment of your +kingdom, the poor squire is famishing as far as rewards go, unless it be +that the confidante damsel that is to be his wife comes with the princess, +and that with her he tides over his bad luck until Heaven otherwise orders +things; for his master, I suppose, may as well give her to him at once for +a lawful wife.” +</p> +<p> +“Nobody can object to that,” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Then since that may be,” said Sancho, “there is nothing for it but to +commend ourselves to God, and let fortune take what course it will.” +</p> +<p> +“God guide it according to my wishes and thy wants,” said Don Quixote, +“and mean be he who thinks himself mean.” +</p> +<p> +“In God’s name let him be so,” said Sancho: “I am an old Christian, and to +fit me for a count that’s enough.” +</p> +<p> +“And more than enough for thee,” said Don Quixote; “and even wert thou +not, it would make no difference, because I being the king can easily give +thee nobility without purchase or service rendered by thee, for when I +make thee a count, then thou art at once a gentleman; and they may say +what they will, but by my faith they will have to call thee ‘your +lordship,’ whether they like it or not.” +</p> +<p> +“Not a doubt of it; and I’ll know how to support the tittle,” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“Title thou shouldst say, not tittle,” said his master. +</p> +<p> +“So be it,” answered Sancho. “I say I will know how to behave, for once in +my life I was beadle of a brotherhood, and the beadle’s gown sat so well +on me that all said I looked as if I was to be steward of the same +brotherhood. What will it be, then, when I put a duke’s robe on my back, +or dress myself in gold and pearls like a count? I believe they’ll come a +hundred leagues to see me.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou wilt look well,” said Don Quixote, “but thou must shave thy beard +often, for thou hast it so thick and rough and unkempt, that if thou dost +not shave it every second day at least, they will see what thou art at the +distance of a musket shot.” +</p> +<p> +“What more will it be,” said Sancho, “than having a barber, and keeping +him at wages in the house? and even if it be necessary, I will make him go +behind me like a nobleman’s equerry.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, how dost thou know that noblemen have equerries behind them?” asked +Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you,” answered Sancho. “Years ago I was for a month at the +capital and there I saw taking the air a very small gentleman who they +said was a very great man, and a man following him on horseback in every +turn he took, just as if he was his tail. I asked why this man did not +join the other man, instead of always going behind him; they answered me +that he was his equerry, and that it was the custom with nobles to have +such persons behind them, and ever since then I know it, for I have never +forgotten it.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou art right,” said Don Quixote, “and in the same way thou mayest carry +thy barber with thee, for customs did not come into use all together, nor +were they all invented at once, and thou mayest be the first count to have +a barber to follow him; and, indeed, shaving one’s beard is a greater +trust than saddling one’s horse.” +</p> +<p> +“Let the barber business be my look-out,” said Sancho; “and your worship’s +be it to strive to become a king, and make me a count.” +</p> +<p> +“So it shall be,” answered Don Quixote, and raising his eyes he saw what +will be told in the following chapter. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c20e" id="c20e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c20e.jpg (18K)" src="images/c20e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch22" id="ch22"></a>CHAPTER XXII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE FREEDOM DON QUIXOTE CONFERRED ON SEVERAL UNFORTUNATES WHO AGAINST +THEIR WILL WERE BEING CARRIED WHERE THEY HAD NO WISH TO GO +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c22a" id="c22a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c22a.jpg (178K)" src="images/c22a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c22a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Cid Hamete Benengeli, the Arab and Manchegan author, relates in this most +grave, high-sounding, minute, delightful, and original history that after +the discussion between the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha and his squire +Sancho Panza which is set down at the end of chapter twenty-one, Don +Quixote raised his eyes and saw coming along the road he was following +some dozen men on foot strung together by the neck, like beads, on a great +iron chain, and all with manacles on their hands. With them there came +also two men on horseback and two on foot; those on horseback with +wheel-lock muskets, those on foot with javelins and swords, and as soon as +Sancho saw them he said: +</p> +<p> +“That is a chain of galley slaves, on the way to the galleys by force of +the king’s orders.” +</p> +<p> +“How by force?” asked Don Quixote; “is it possible that the king uses +force against anyone?” +</p> +<p> +“I do not say that,” answered Sancho, “but that these are people condemned +for their crimes to serve by force in the king’s galleys.” +</p> +<p> +“In fact,” replied Don Quixote, “however it may be, these people are going +where they are taking them by force, and not of their own will.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“Then if so,” said Don Quixote, “here is a case for the exercise of my +office, to put down force and to succour and help the wretched.” +</p> +<p> +“Recollect, your worship,” said Sancho, “Justice, which is the king +himself, is not using force or doing wrong to such persons, but punishing +them for their crimes.” +</p> +<p> +The chain of galley slaves had by this time come up, and Don Quixote in +very courteous language asked those who were in custody of it to be good +enough to tell him the reason or reasons for which they were conducting +these people in this manner. One of the guards on horseback answered that +they were galley slaves belonging to his majesty, that they were going to +the galleys, and that was all that was to be said and all he had any +business to know. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c22b" id="c22b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c22b.jpg (298K)" src="images/c22b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c22b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Nevertheless,” replied Don Quixote, “I should like to know from each of +them separately the reason of his misfortune;” to this he added more to +the same effect to induce them to tell him what he wanted so civilly that +the other mounted guard said to him: +</p> +<p> +“Though we have here the register and certificate of the sentence of every +one of these wretches, this is no time to take them out or read them; come +and ask themselves; they can tell if they choose, and they will, for these +fellows take a pleasure in doing and talking about rascalities.” +</p> +<p> +With this permission, which Don Quixote would have taken even had they not +granted it, he approached the chain and asked the first for what offences +he was now in such a sorry case. +</p> +<p> +He made answer that it was for being a lover. +</p> +<p> +“For that only?” replied Don Quixote; “why, if for being lovers they send +people to the galleys I might have been rowing in them long ago.” +</p> +<p> +“The love is not the sort your worship is thinking of,” said the galley +slave; “mine was that I loved a washerwoman’s basket of clean linen so +well, and held it so close in my embrace, that if the arm of the law had +not forced it from me, I should never have let it go of my own will to +this moment; I was caught in the act, there was no occasion for torture, +the case was settled, they treated me to a hundred lashes on the back, and +three years of gurapas besides, and that was the end of it.” +</p> +<p> +“What are gurapas?” asked Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Gurapas are galleys,” answered the galley slave, who was a young man of +about four-and-twenty, and said he was a native of Piedrahita. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote asked the same question of the second, who made no reply, so +downcast and melancholy was he; but the first answered for him, and said, +“He, sir, goes as a canary, I mean as a musician and a singer.” +</p> +<p> +“What!” said Don Quixote, “for being musicians and singers are people sent +to the galleys too?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” answered the galley slave, “for there is nothing worse than +singing under suffering.” +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, I have heard say,” said Don Quixote, “that he who sings +scares away his woes.” +</p> +<p> +“Here it is the reverse,” said the galley slave; “for he who sings once +weeps all his life.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not understand it,” said Don Quixote; but one of the guards said to +him, “Sir, to sing under suffering means with the non sancta fraternity to +confess under torture; they put this sinner to the torture and he +confessed his crime, which was being a cuatrero, that is a cattle-stealer, +and on his confession they sentenced him to six years in the galleys, +besides two hundred lashes that he has already had on the back; and he is +always dejected and downcast because the other thieves that were left +behind and that march here ill-treat, and snub, and jeer, and despise him +for confessing and not having spirit enough to say nay; for, say they, +‘nay’ has no more letters in it than ‘yea,’ and a culprit is well off when +life or death with him depends on his own tongue and not on that of +witnesses or evidence; and to my thinking they are not very far out.” +</p> +<p> +“And I think so too,” answered Don Quixote; then passing on to the third +he asked him what he had asked the others, and the man answered very +readily and unconcernedly, “I am going for five years to their ladyships +the gurapas for the want of ten ducats.” +</p> +<p> +“I will give twenty with pleasure to get you out of that trouble,” said +Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“That,” said the galley slave, “is like a man having money at sea when he +is dying of hunger and has no way of buying what he wants; I say so +because if at the right time I had had those twenty ducats that your +worship now offers me, I would have greased the notary’s pen and freshened +up the attorney’s wit with them, so that to-day I should be in the middle +of the plaza of the Zocodover at Toledo, and not on this road coupled like +a greyhound. But God is great; patience—there, that’s enough of it.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote passed on to the fourth, a man of venerable aspect with a +white beard falling below his breast, who on hearing himself asked the +reason of his being there began to weep without answering a word, but the +fifth acted as his tongue and said, “This worthy man is going to the +galleys for four years, after having gone the rounds in ceremony and on +horseback.” +</p> +<p> +“That means,” said Sancho Panza, “as I take it, to have been exposed to +shame in public.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” replied the galley slave, “and the offence for which they gave +him that punishment was having been an ear-broker, nay body-broker; I +mean, in short, that this gentleman goes as a pimp, and for having besides +a certain touch of the sorcerer about him.” +</p> +<p> +“If that touch had not been thrown in,” said Don Quixote, “he would not +deserve, for mere pimping, to row in the galleys, but rather to command +and be admiral of them; for the office of pimp is no ordinary one, being +the office of persons of discretion, one very necessary in a well-ordered +state, and only to be exercised by persons of good birth; nay, there ought +to be an inspector and overseer of them, as in other offices, and +recognised number, as with the brokers on change; in this way many of the +evils would be avoided which are caused by this office and calling being +in the hands of stupid and ignorant people, such as women more or less +silly, and pages and jesters of little standing and experience, who on the +most urgent occasions, and when ingenuity of contrivance is needed, let +the crumbs freeze on the way to their mouths, and know not which is their +right hand. I should like to go farther, and give reasons to show that it +is advisable to choose those who are to hold so necessary an office in the +state, but this is not the fit place for it; some day I will expound the +matter to some one able to see to and rectify it; all I say now is, that +the additional fact of his being a sorcerer has removed the sorrow it gave +me to see these white hairs and this venerable countenance in so painful a +position on account of his being a pimp; though I know well there are no +sorceries in the world that can move or compel the will as some simple +folk fancy, for our will is free, nor is there herb or charm that can +force it. All that certain silly women and quacks do is to turn men mad +with potions and poisons, pretending that they have power to cause love, +for, as I say, it is an impossibility to compel the will.” +</p> +<p> +“It is true,” said the good old man, “and indeed, sir, as far as the +charge of sorcery goes I was not guilty; as to that of being a pimp I +cannot deny it; but I never thought I was doing any harm by it, for my +only object was that all the world should enjoy itself and live in peace +and quiet, without quarrels or troubles; but my good intentions were +unavailing to save me from going where I never expect to come back from, +with this weight of years upon me and a urinary ailment that never gives +me a moment’s ease;” and again he fell to weeping as before, and such +compassion did Sancho feel for him that he took out a real of four from +his bosom and gave it to him in alms. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote went on and asked another what his crime was, and the man +answered with no less but rather much more sprightliness than the last +one. +</p> +<p> +“I am here because I carried the joke too far with a couple of cousins of +mine, and with a couple of other cousins who were none of mine; in short, +I carried the joke so far with them all that it ended in such a +complicated increase of kindred that no accountant could make it clear: it +was all proved against me, I got no favour, I had no money, I was near +having my neck stretched, they sentenced me to the galleys for six years, +I accepted my fate, it is the punishment of my fault; I am a young man; +let life only last, and with that all will come right. If you, sir, have +anything wherewith to help the poor, God will repay it to you in heaven, +and we on earth will take care in our petitions to him to pray for the +life and health of your worship, that they may be as long and as good as +your amiable appearance deserves.” +</p> +<p> +This one was in the dress of a student, and one of the guards said he was +a great talker and a very elegant Latin scholar. +</p> +<p> +Behind all these there came a man of thirty, a very personable fellow, +except that when he looked, his eyes turned in a little one towards the +other. He was bound differently from the rest, for he had to his leg a +chain so long that it was wound all round his body, and two rings on his +neck, one attached to the chain, the other to what they call a +“keep-friend” or “friend’s foot,” from which hung two irons reaching to +his waist with two manacles fixed to them in which his hands were secured +by a big padlock, so that he could neither raise his hands to his mouth +nor lower his head to his hands. Don Quixote asked why this man carried so +many more chains than the others. The guard replied that it was because he +alone had committed more crimes than all the rest put together, and was so +daring and such a villain, that though they marched him in that fashion +they did not feel sure of him, but were in dread of his making his escape. +</p> +<p> +“What crimes can he have committed,” said Don Quixote, “if they have not +deserved a heavier punishment than being sent to the galleys?” +</p> +<p> +“He goes for ten years,” replied the guard, “which is the same thing as +civil death, and all that need be said is that this good fellow is the +famous Gines de Pasamonte, otherwise called Ginesillo de Parapilla.” +</p> +<p> +“Gently, señor commissary,” said the galley slave at this, “let us have no +fixing of names or surnames; my name is Gines, not Ginesillo, and my +family name is Pasamonte, not Parapilla as you say; let each one mind his +own business, and he will be doing enough.” +</p> +<p> +“Speak with less impertinence, master thief of extra measure,” replied the +commissary, “if you don’t want me to make you hold your tongue in spite of +your teeth.” +</p> +<p> +“It is easy to see,” returned the galley slave, “that man goes as God +pleases, but some one shall know some day whether I am called Ginesillo de +Parapilla or not.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t they call you so, you liar?” said the guard. +</p> +<p> +“They do,” returned Gines, “but I will make them give over calling me so, +or I will be shaved, where, I only say behind my teeth. If you, sir, have +anything to give us, give it to us at once, and God speed you, for you are +becoming tiresome with all this inquisitiveness about the lives of others; +if you want to know about mine, let me tell you I am Gines de Pasamonte, +whose life is written by these fingers.” +</p> +<p> +“He says true,” said the commissary, “for he has himself written his story +as grand as you please, and has left the book in the prison in pawn for +two hundred reals.” +</p> +<p> +“And I mean to take it out of pawn,” said Gines, “though it were in for +two hundred ducats.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it so good?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“So good is it,” replied Gines, “that a fig for ‘Lazarillo de Tormes,’ and +all of that kind that have been written, or shall be written compared with +it: all I will say about it is that it deals with facts, and facts so neat +and diverting that no lies could match them.” +</p> +<p> +“And how is the book entitled?” asked Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“The ‘Life of Gines de Pasamonte,’” replied the subject of it. +</p> +<p> +“And is it finished?” asked Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“How can it be finished,” said the other, “when my life is not yet +finished? All that is written is from my birth down to the point when they +sent me to the galleys this last time.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you have been there before?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“In the service of God and the king I have been there for four years +before now, and I know by this time what the biscuit and courbash are +like,” replied Gines; “and it is no great grievance to me to go back to +them, for there I shall have time to finish my book; I have still many +things left to say, and in the galleys of Spain there is more than enough +leisure; though I do not want much for what I have to write, for I have it +by heart.” +</p> +<p> +“You seem a clever fellow,” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“And an unfortunate one,” replied Gines, “for misfortune always persecutes +good wit.” +</p> +<p> +“It persecutes rogues,” said the commissary. +</p> +<p> +“I told you already to go gently, master commissary,” said +Pasamonte; “their lordships yonder never gave you that staff to ill-treat +us wretches here, but to conduct and take us where his majesty orders you; if +not, by the life of—never mind—; it may be that some day the stains +made in the inn will come out in the scouring; let everyone hold his tongue and +behave well and speak better; and now let us march on, for we have had quite +enough of this entertainment.” +</p> +<p> +The commissary lifted his staff to strike Pasamonte in return for his +threats, but Don Quixote came between them, and begged him not to ill-use +him, as it was not too much to allow one who had his hands tied to have +his tongue a trifle free; and turning to the whole chain of them he said: +</p> +<p> +“From all you have told me, dear brethren, I make out clearly that though +they have punished you for your faults, the punishments you are about to endure +do not give you much pleasure, and that you go to them very much against the +grain and against your will, and that perhaps this one’s want of courage +under torture, that one’s want of money, the other’s want of +advocacy, and lastly the perverted judgment of the judge may have been the +cause of your ruin and of your failure to obtain the justice you had on your +side. All which presents itself now to my mind, urging, persuading, and even +compelling me to demonstrate in your case the purpose for which Heaven sent me +into the world and caused me to make profession of the order of chivalry to +which I belong, and the vow I took therein to give aid to those in need and +under the oppression of the strong. But as I know that it is a mark of prudence +not to do by foul means what may be done by fair, I will ask these gentlemen, +the guards and commissary, to be so good as to release you and let you go in +peace, as there will be no lack of others to serve the king under more +favourable circumstances; for it seems to me a hard case to make slaves of +those whom God and nature have made free. Moreover, sirs of the guard,” +added Don Quixote, “these poor fellows have done nothing to you; let each +answer for his own sins yonder; there is a God in Heaven who will not forget to +punish the wicked or reward the good; and it is not fitting that honest men +should be the instruments of punishment to others, they being therein no way +concerned. This request I make thus gently and quietly, that, if you comply +with it, I may have reason for thanking you; and, if you will not voluntarily, +this lance and sword together with the might of my arm shall compel you to +comply with it by force.” +</p> +<p> +“Nice nonsense!” said the commissary; “a fine piece of pleasantry he has +come out with at last! He wants us to let the king’s prisoners go, as if +we had any authority to release them, or he to order us to do so! Go your +way, sir, and good luck to you; put that basin straight that you’ve got on +your head, and don’t go looking for three feet on a cat.” +</p> +<p> +“‘Tis you that are the cat, rat, and rascal,” replied Don Quixote, and +acting on the word he fell upon him so suddenly that without giving him +time to defend himself he brought him to the ground sorely wounded with a +lance-thrust; and lucky it was for him that it was the one that had the +musket. The other guards stood thunderstruck and amazed at this unexpected +event, but recovering presence of mind, those on horseback seized their +swords, and those on foot their javelins, and attacked Don Quixote, who +was waiting for them with great calmness; and no doubt it would have gone +badly with him if the galley slaves, seeing the chance before them of +liberating themselves, had not effected it by contriving to break the +chain on which they were strung. Such was the confusion, that the guards, +now rushing at the galley slaves who were breaking loose, now to attack +Don Quixote who was waiting for them, did nothing at all that was of any +use. Sancho, on his part, gave a helping hand to release Gines de +Pasamonte, who was the first to leap forth upon the plain free and +unfettered, and who, attacking the prostrate commissary, took from him his +sword and the musket, with which, aiming at one and levelling at another, +he, without ever discharging it, drove every one of the guards off the +field, for they took to flight, as well to escape Pasamonte’s musket, as +the showers of stones the now released galley slaves were raining upon +them. Sancho was greatly grieved at the affair, because he anticipated +that those who had fled would report the matter to the Holy Brotherhood, +who at the summons of the alarm-bell would at once sally forth in quest of +the offenders; and he said so to his master, and entreated him to leave +the place at once, and go into hiding in the sierra that was close by. +</p> +<p> +“That is all very well,” said Don Quixote, “but I know what must be done +now;” and calling together all the galley slaves, who were now running +riot, and had stripped the commissary to the skin, he collected them round +him to hear what he had to say, and addressed them as follows: “To be +grateful for benefits received is the part of persons of good birth, and +one of the sins most offensive to God is ingratitude; I say so because, +sirs, ye have already seen by manifest proof the benefit ye have received +of me; in return for which I desire, and it is my good pleasure that, +laden with that chain which I have taken off your necks, ye at once set +out and proceed to the city of El Toboso, and there present yourselves +before the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and say to her that her knight, he of +the Rueful Countenance, sends to commend himself to her; and that ye +recount to her in full detail all the particulars of this notable +adventure, up to the recovery of your longed-for liberty; and this done ye +may go where ye will, and good fortune attend you.” +</p> +<p> +Gines de Pasamonte made answer for all, saying, “That which you, sir, our +deliverer, demand of us, is of all impossibilities the most impossible to +comply with, because we cannot go together along the roads, but only +singly and separate, and each one his own way, endeavouring to hide +ourselves in the bowels of the earth to escape the Holy Brotherhood, +which, no doubt, will come out in search of us. What your worship may do, +and fairly do, is to change this service and tribute as regards the lady +Dulcinea del Toboso for a certain quantity of ave-marias and credos which +we will say for your worship’s intention, and this is a condition that can +be complied with by night as by day, running or resting, in peace or in +war; but to imagine that we are going now to return to the flesh-pots of +Egypt, I mean to take up our chain and set out for El Toboso, is to +imagine that it is now night, though it is not yet ten in the morning, and +to ask this of us is like asking pears of the elm tree.” +</p> +<p> +“Then by all that’s good,” said Don Quixote (now stirred to wrath), “Don +son of a bitch, Don Ginesillo de Paropillo, or whatever your name is, you +will have to go yourself alone, with your tail between your legs and the +whole chain on your back.” +</p> +<p> +Pasamonte, who was anything but meek (being by this time thoroughly +convinced that Don Quixote was not quite right in his head as he had +committed such a vagary as to set them free), finding himself abused in +this fashion, gave the wink to his companions, and falling back they began +to shower stones on Don Quixote at such a rate that he was quite unable to +protect himself with his buckler, and poor Rocinante no more heeded the +spur than if he had been made of brass. Sancho planted himself behind his +ass, and with him sheltered himself from the hailstorm that poured on both +of them. Don Quixote was unable to shield himself so well but that more +pebbles than I could count struck him full on the body with such force +that they brought him to the ground; and the instant he fell the student +pounced upon him, snatched the basin from his head, and with it struck +three or four blows on his shoulders, and as many more on the ground, +knocking it almost to pieces. They then stripped him of a jacket that he +wore over his armour, and they would have stripped off his stockings if +his greaves had not prevented them. From Sancho they took his coat, +leaving him in his shirt-sleeves; and dividing among themselves the +remaining spoils of the battle, they went each one his own way, more +solicitous about keeping clear of the Holy Brotherhood they dreaded, than +about burdening themselves with the chain, or going to present themselves +before the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. The ass and Rocinante, Sancho and Don +Quixote, were all that were left upon the spot; the ass with drooping +head, serious, shaking his ears from time to time as if he thought the +storm of stones that assailed them was not yet over; Rocinante stretched +beside his master, for he too had been brought to the ground by a stone; +Sancho stripped, and trembling with fear of the Holy Brotherhood; and Don +Quixote fuming to find himself so served by the very persons for whom he +had done so much. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c22e" id="c22e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c22e.jpg (44K)" src="images/c22e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch23" id="ch23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE SIERRA MORENA, WHICH WAS ONE OF THE +RAREST ADVENTURES RELATED IN THIS VERACIOUS HISTORY +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c23a" id="c23a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c23a.jpg (148K)" src="images/c23a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c23a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Seeing himself served in this way, Don Quixote said to his squire, “I have +always heard it said, Sancho, that to do good to boors is to throw water +into the sea. If I had believed thy words, I should have avoided this +trouble; but it is done now, it is only to have patience and take warning +for the future.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c23b" id="c23b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c23b.jpg (318K)" src="images/c23b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c23b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Your worship will take warning as much as I am a Turk,” returned Sancho; +“but, as you say this mischief might have been avoided if you had believed +me, believe me now, and a still greater one will be avoided; for I tell +you chivalry is of no account with the Holy Brotherhood, and they don’t +care two maravedis for all the knights-errant in the world; and I can tell +you I fancy I hear their arrows whistling past my ears this minute.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou art a coward by nature, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but lest thou +shouldst say I am obstinate, and that I never do as thou dost advise, this +once I will take thy advice, and withdraw out of reach of that fury thou +so dreadest; but it must be on one condition, that never, in life or in +death, thou art to say to anyone that I retired or withdrew from this +danger out of fear, but only in compliance with thy entreaties; for if +thou sayest otherwise thou wilt lie therein, and from this time to that, +and from that to this, I give thee lie, and say thou liest and wilt lie +every time thou thinkest or sayest it; and answer me not again; for at the +mere thought that I am withdrawing or retiring from any danger, above all +from this, which does seem to carry some little shadow of fear with it, I +am ready to take my stand here and await alone, not only that Holy +Brotherhood you talk of and dread, but the brothers of the twelve tribes +of Israel, and the Seven Maccabees, and Castor and Pollux, and all the +brothers and brotherhoods in the world.” +</p> +<p> +“Señor,” replied Sancho, “to retire is not to flee, and there is no wisdom +in waiting when danger outweighs hope, and it is the part of wise men to +preserve themselves to-day for to-morrow, and not risk all in one day; and +let me tell you, though I am a clown and a boor, I have got some notion of +what they call safe conduct; so repent not of having taken my advice, but +mount Rocinante if you can, and if not I will help you; and follow me, for +my mother-wit tells me we have more need of legs than hands just now.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote mounted without replying, and, Sancho leading the way on his +ass, they entered the side of the Sierra Morena, which was close by, as it +was Sancho’s design to cross it entirely and come out again at El Viso or +Almodovar del Campo, and hide for some days among its crags so as to +escape the search of the Brotherhood should they come to look for them. He +was encouraged in this by perceiving that the stock of provisions carried +by the ass had come safe out of the fray with the galley slaves, a +circumstance that he regarded as a miracle, seeing how they pillaged and +ransacked. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c23c" id="c23c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c23c.jpg (297K)" src="images/c23c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c23c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +That night they reached the very heart of the Sierra Morena, where it +seemed prudent to Sancho to pass the night and even some days, at least as +many as the stores he carried might last, and so they encamped between two +rocks and among some cork trees; but fatal destiny, which, according to +the opinion of those who have not the light of the true faith, directs, +arranges, and settles everything in its own way, so ordered it that Gines +de Pasamonte, the famous knave and thief who by the virtue and madness of +Don Quixote had been released from the chain, driven by fear of the Holy +Brotherhood, which he had good reason to dread, resolved to take hiding in +the mountains; and his fate and fear led him to the same spot to which Don +Quixote and Sancho Panza had been led by theirs, just in time to recognise +them and leave them to fall asleep: and as the wicked are always +ungrateful, and necessity leads to evildoing, and immediate advantage +overcomes all considerations of the future, Gines, who was neither +grateful nor well-principled, made up his mind to steal Sancho Panza’s +ass, not troubling himself about Rocinante, as being a prize that was no +good either to pledge or sell. While Sancho slept he stole his ass, and +before day dawned he was far out of reach. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c23d" id="c23d"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c23d.jpg (256K)" src="images/c23d.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c23d.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Aurora made her appearance bringing gladness to the earth but sadness to +Sancho Panza, for he found that his Dapple was missing, and seeing himself +bereft of him he began the saddest and most doleful lament in the world, +so loud that Don Quixote awoke at his exclamations and heard him saying, +“O son of my bowels, born in my very house, my children’s plaything, my +wife’s joy, the envy of my neighbours, relief of my burdens, and lastly, +half supporter of myself, for with the six-and-twenty maravedis thou didst +earn me daily I met half my charges.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote, when he heard the lament and learned the cause, consoled +Sancho with the best arguments he could, entreating him to be patient, and +promising to give him a letter of exchange ordering three out of five +ass-colts that he had at home to be given to him. Sancho took comfort at +this, dried his tears, suppressed his sobs, and returned thanks for the +kindness shown him by Don Quixote. He on his part was rejoiced to the +heart on entering the mountains, as they seemed to him to be just the +place for the adventures he was in quest of. They brought back to his +memory the marvellous adventures that had befallen knights-errant in like +solitudes and wilds, and he went along reflecting on these things, so +absorbed and carried away by them that he had no thought for anything +else. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c23e" id="c23e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c23e.jpg (280K)" src="images/c23e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c23e.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Nor had Sancho any other care (now that he fancied he was travelling in a +safe quarter) than to satisfy his appetite with such remains as were left +of the clerical spoils, and so he marched behind his master laden with +what Dapple used to carry, emptying the sack and packing his paunch, and +so long as he could go that way, he would not have given a farthing to +meet with another adventure. +</p> +<p> +While so engaged he raised his eyes and saw that his master had halted, +and was trying with the point of his pike to lift some bulky object that +lay upon the ground, on which he hastened to join him and help him if it +were needful, and reached him just as with the point of the pike he was +raising a saddle-pad with a valise attached to it, half or rather wholly +rotten and torn; but so heavy were they that Sancho had to help to take +them up, and his master directed him to see what the valise contained. +Sancho did so with great alacrity, and though the valise was secured by a +chain and padlock, from its torn and rotten condition he was able to see +its contents, which were four shirts of fine holland, and other articles +of linen no less curious than clean; and in a handkerchief he found a good +lot of gold crowns, and as soon as he saw them he exclaimed: +</p> +<p> +“Blessed be all Heaven for sending us an adventure that is good for +something!” +</p> +<p> +Searching further he found a little memorandum book richly bound; this Don +Quixote asked of him, telling him to take the money and keep it for +himself. Sancho kissed his hands for the favour, and cleared the valise of +its linen, which he stowed away in the provision sack. Considering the +whole matter, Don Quixote observed: +</p> +<p> +“It seems to me, Sancho—and it is impossible it can be otherwise—that +some strayed traveller must have crossed this sierra and been attacked and +slain by footpads, who brought him to this remote spot to bury him.” +</p> +<p> +“That cannot be,” answered Sancho, “because if they had been robbers they +would not have left this money.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou art right,” said Don Quixote, “and I cannot guess or explain what +this may mean; but stay; let us see if in this memorandum book there is +anything written by which we may be able to trace out or discover what we +want to know.” +</p> +<p> +He opened it, and the first thing he found in it, written roughly but in a +very good hand, was a sonnet, and reading it aloud that Sancho might hear +it, he found that it ran as follows: +</p> +<blockquote> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SONNET + +Or Love is lacking in intelligence, +Or to the height of cruelty attains, +Or else it is my doom to suffer pains +Beyond the measure due to my offence. +But if Love be a God, it follows thence +That he knows all, and certain it remains +No God loves cruelty; then who ordains +This penance that enthrals while it torments? +It were a falsehood, Chloe, thee to name; +Such evil with such goodness cannot live; +And against Heaven I dare not charge the blame, +I only know it is my fate to die. +To him who knows not whence his malady +A miracle alone a cure can give. +</pre> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c23f" id="c23f"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c23f.jpg (344K)" src="images/c23f.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c23f.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“There is nothing to be learned from that rhyme,” said Sancho, “unless by +that clue there’s in it, one may draw out the ball of the whole matter.” +</p> +<p> +“What clue is there?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“I thought your worship spoke of a clue in it,” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“I only said Chloe,” replied Don Quixote; “and that no doubt, is the name +of the lady of whom the author of the sonnet complains; and, faith, he +must be a tolerable poet, or I know little of the craft.” +</p> +<p> +“Then your worship understands rhyming too?” +</p> +<p> +“And better than thou thinkest,” replied Don Quixote, “as thou shalt see +when thou carriest a letter written in verse from beginning to end to my +lady Dulcinea del Toboso, for I would have thee know, Sancho, that all or +most of the knights-errant in days of yore were great troubadours and +great musicians, for both of these accomplishments, or more properly +speaking gifts, are the peculiar property of lovers-errant: true it is +that the verses of the knights of old have more spirit than neatness in +them.” +</p> +<p> +“Read more, your worship,” said Sancho, “and you will find something that +will enlighten us.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote turned the page and said, “This is prose and seems to be a +letter.” +</p> +<p> +“A correspondence letter, señor?” +</p> +<p> +“From the beginning it seems to be a love letter,” replied Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Then let your worship read it aloud,” said Sancho, “for I am very fond of +love matters.” +</p> +<p> +“With all my heart,” said Don Quixote, and reading it aloud as Sancho had +requested him, he found it ran thus: +</p> +<p> +Thy false promise and my sure misfortune carry me to a place whence the +news of my death will reach thy ears before the words of my complaint. +Ungrateful one, thou hast rejected me for one more wealthy, but not more +worthy; but if virtue were esteemed wealth I should neither envy the +fortunes of others nor weep for misfortunes of my own. What thy beauty +raised up thy deeds have laid low; by it I believed thee to be an angel, +by them I know thou art a woman. Peace be with thee who hast sent war to +me, and Heaven grant that the deceit of thy husband be ever hidden from +thee, so that thou repent not of what thou hast done, and I reap not a +revenge I would not have. +</p> +<p> +When he had finished the letter, Don Quixote said, “There is less to be +gathered from this than from the verses, except that he who wrote it is +some rejected lover;” and turning over nearly all the pages of the book he +found more verses and letters, some of which he could read, while others +he could not; but they were all made up of complaints, laments, +misgivings, desires and aversions, favours and rejections, some rapturous, +some doleful. While Don Quixote examined the book, Sancho examined the +valise, not leaving a corner in the whole of it or in the pad that he did +not search, peer into, and explore, or seam that he did not rip, or tuft +of wool that he did not pick to pieces, lest anything should escape for +want of care and pains; so keen was the covetousness excited in him by the +discovery of the crowns, which amounted to near a hundred; and though he +found no more booty, he held the blanket flights, balsam vomits, stake +benedictions, carriers’ fisticuffs, missing alforjas, stolen coat, and all +the hunger, thirst, and weariness he had endured in the service of his +good master, cheap at the price; as he considered himself more than fully +indemnified for all by the payment he received in the gift of the +treasure-trove. +</p> +<p> +The Knight of the Rueful Countenance was still very anxious to find out +who the owner of the valise could be, conjecturing from the sonnet and +letter, from the money in gold, and from the fineness of the shirts, that +he must be some lover of distinction whom the scorn and cruelty of his +lady had driven to some desperate course; but as in that uninhabited and +rugged spot there was no one to be seen of whom he could inquire, he saw +nothing else for it but to push on, taking whatever road Rocinante chose—which +was where he could make his way—firmly persuaded that among these +wilds he could not fail to meet some rare adventure. As he went along, +then, occupied with these thoughts, he perceived on the summit of a height +that rose before their eyes a man who went springing from rock to rock and +from tussock to tussock with marvellous agility. As well as he could make +out he was unclad, with a thick black beard, long tangled hair, and bare +legs and feet, his thighs were covered by breeches apparently of tawny +velvet but so ragged that they showed his skin in several places. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c23g" id="c23g"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c23g.jpg (360K)" src="images/c23g.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c23g.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +He was bareheaded, and notwithstanding the swiftness with which he passed +as has been described, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance observed and +noted all these trifles, and though he made the attempt, he was unable to +follow him, for it was not granted to the feebleness of Rocinante to make +way over such rough ground, he being, moreover, slow-paced and sluggish by +nature. Don Quixote at once came to the conclusion that this was the owner +of the saddle-pad and of the valise, and made up his mind to go in search +of him, even though he should have to wander a year in those mountains +before he found him, and so he directed Sancho to take a short cut over +one side of the mountain, while he himself went by the other, and perhaps +by this means they might light upon this man who had passed so quickly out +of their sight. +</p> +<p> +“I could not do that,” said Sancho, “for when I separate from your worship +fear at once lays hold of me, and assails me with all sorts of panics and +fancies; and let what I now say be a notice that from this time forth I am +not going to stir a finger’s width from your presence.” +</p> +<p> +“It shall be so,” said he of the Rueful Countenance, “and I am very glad +that thou art willing to rely on my courage, which will never fail thee, +even though the soul in thy body fail thee; so come on now behind me +slowly as well as thou canst, and make lanterns of thine eyes; let us make +the circuit of this ridge; perhaps we shall light upon this man that we +saw, who no doubt is no other than the owner of what we found.” +</p> +<p> +To which Sancho made answer, “Far better would it be not to look for him, +for, if we find him, and he happens to be the owner of the money, it is +plain I must restore it; it would be better, therefore, that without +taking this needless trouble, I should keep possession of it until in some +other less meddlesome and officious way the real owner may be discovered; +and perhaps that will be when I shall have spent it, and then the king +will hold me harmless.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou art wrong there, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for now that we have a +suspicion who the owner is, and have him almost before us, we are bound to +seek him and make restitution; and if we do not see him, the strong +suspicion we have as to his being the owner makes us as guilty as if he +were so; and so, friend Sancho, let not our search for him give thee any +uneasiness, for if we find him it will relieve mine.” +</p> +<p> +And so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and Sancho followed him on foot +and loaded, and after having partly made the circuit of the mountain they +found lying in a ravine, dead and half devoured by dogs and pecked by +jackdaws, a mule saddled and bridled, all which still further strengthened +their suspicion that he who had fled was the owner of the mule and the +saddle-pad. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c23h" id="c23h"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c23h.jpg (381K)" src="images/c23h.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c23h.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +As they stood looking at it they heard a whistle like that of a shepherd +watching his flock, and suddenly on their left there appeared a great +number of goats and behind them on the summit of the mountain the goatherd +in charge of them, a man advanced in years. Don Quixote called aloud to +him and begged him to come down to where they stood. He shouted in return, +asking what had brought them to that spot, seldom or never trodden except +by the feet of goats, or of the wolves and other wild beasts that roamed +around. Sancho in return bade him come down, and they would explain all to +him. +</p> +<p> +The goatherd descended, and reaching the place where Don Quixote stood, he +said, “I will wager you are looking at that hack mule that lies dead in +the hollow there, and, faith, it has been lying there now these six +months; tell me, have you come upon its master about here?” +</p> +<p> +“We have come upon nobody,” answered Don Quixote, “nor on anything except +a saddle-pad and a little valise that we found not far from this.” +</p> +<p> +“I found it too,” said the goatherd, “but I would not lift it nor go near +it for fear of some ill-luck or being charged with theft, for the devil is +crafty, and things rise up under one’s feet to make one fall without +knowing why or wherefore.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s exactly what I say,” said Sancho; “I found it too, and I would not +go within a stone’s throw of it; there I left it, and there it lies just +as it was, for I don’t want a dog with a bell.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, good man,” said Don Quixote, “do you know who is the owner of +this property?” +</p> +<p> +“All I can tell you,” said the goatherd, “is that about six months ago, +more or less, there arrived at a shepherd’s hut three leagues, perhaps, +away from this, a youth of well-bred appearance and manners, mounted on +that same mule which lies dead here, and with the same saddle-pad and +valise which you say you found and did not touch. He asked us what part of +this sierra was the most rugged and retired; we told him that it was where +we now are; and so in truth it is, for if you push on half a league +farther, perhaps you will not be able to find your way out; and I am +wondering how you have managed to come here, for there is no road or path +that leads to this spot. I say, then, that on hearing our answer the youth +turned about and made for the place we pointed out to him, leaving us all +charmed with his good looks, and wondering at his question and the haste +with which we saw him depart in the direction of the sierra; and after +that we saw him no more, until some days afterwards he crossed the path of +one of our shepherds, and without saying a word to him, came up to him and +gave him several cuffs and kicks, and then turned to the ass with our +provisions and took all the bread and cheese it carried, and having done +this made off back again into the sierra with extraordinary swiftness. +When some of us goatherds learned this we went in search of him for about +two days through the most remote portion of this sierra, at the end of +which we found him lodged in the hollow of a large thick cork tree. He +came out to meet us with great gentleness, with his dress now torn and his +face so disfigured and burned by the sun, that we hardly recognised him +but that his clothes, though torn, convinced us, from the recollection we +had of them, that he was the person we were looking for. He saluted us +courteously, and in a few well-spoken words he told us not to wonder at +seeing him going about in this guise, as it was binding upon him in order +that he might work out a penance which for his many sins had been imposed +upon him. We asked him to tell us who he was, but we were never able to +find out from him: we begged of him too, when he was in want of food, +which he could not do without, to tell us where we should find him, as we +would bring it to him with all good-will and readiness; or if this were +not to his taste, at least to come and ask it of us and not take it by +force from the shepherds. He thanked us for the offer, begged pardon for +the late assault, and promised for the future to ask it in God’s name +without offering violence to anybody. As for fixed abode, he said he had +no other than that which chance offered wherever night might overtake him; +and his words ended in an outburst of weeping so bitter that we who +listened to him must have been very stones had we not joined him in it, +comparing what we saw of him the first time with what we saw now; for, as +I said, he was a graceful and gracious youth, and in his courteous and +polished language showed himself to be of good birth and courtly breeding, +and rustics as we were that listened to him, even to our rusticity his +gentle bearing sufficed to make it plain. +</p> +<p> +“But in the midst of his conversation he stopped and became silent, +keeping his eyes fixed upon the ground for some time, during which we +stood still waiting anxiously to see what would come of this abstraction; +and with no little pity, for from his behaviour, now staring at the ground +with fixed gaze and eyes wide open without moving an eyelid, again closing +them, compressing his lips and raising his eyebrows, we could perceive +plainly that a fit of madness of some kind had come upon him; and before +long he showed that what we imagined was the truth, for he arose in a fury +from the ground where he had thrown himself, and attacked the first he +found near him with such rage and fierceness that if we had not dragged +him off him, he would have beaten or bitten him to death, all the while +exclaiming, ‘Oh faithless Fernando, here, here shalt thou pay the penalty +of the wrong thou hast done me; these hands shall tear out that heart of +thine, abode and dwelling of all iniquity, but of deceit and fraud above +all; and to these he added other words all in effect upbraiding this +Fernando and charging him with treachery and faithlessness. +</p> +<p> +“We forced him to release his hold with no little difficulty, and without +another word he left us, and rushing off plunged in among these brakes and +brambles, so as to make it impossible for us to follow him; from this we +suppose that madness comes upon him from time to time, and that some one +called Fernando must have done him a wrong of a grievous nature such as +the condition to which it had brought him seemed to show. All this has +been since then confirmed on those occasions, and they have been many, on +which he has crossed our path, at one time to beg the shepherds to give +him some of the food they carry, at another to take it from them by force; +for when there is a fit of madness upon him, even though the shepherds +offer it freely, he will not accept it but snatches it from them by dint +of blows; but when he is in his senses he begs it for the love of God, +courteously and civilly, and receives it with many thanks and not a few +tears. And to tell you the truth, sirs,” continued the goatherd, “it was +yesterday that we resolved, I and four of the lads, two of them our +servants, and the other two friends of mine, to go in search of him until +we find him, and when we do to take him, whether by force or of his own +consent, to the town of Almodovar, which is eight leagues from this, and +there strive to cure him (if indeed his malady admits of a cure), or learn +when he is in his senses who he is, and if he has relatives to whom we may +give notice of his misfortune. This, sirs, is all I can say in answer to +what you have asked me; and be sure that the owner of the articles you +found is he whom you saw pass by with such nimbleness and so naked.” +</p> +<p> +For Don Quixote had already described how he had seen the man go bounding +along the mountain side, and he was now filled with amazement at what he +heard from the goatherd, and more eager than ever to discover who the +unhappy madman was; and in his heart he resolved, as he had done before, +to search for him all over the mountain, not leaving a corner or cave +unexamined until he had found him. But chance arranged matters better than +he expected or hoped, for at that very moment, in a gorge on the mountain +that opened where they stood, the youth he wished to find made his +appearance, coming along talking to himself in a way that would have been +unintelligible near at hand, much more at a distance. His garb was what +has been described, save that as he drew near, Don Quixote perceived that +a tattered doublet which he wore was amber-tanned, from which he concluded +that one who wore such garments could not be of very low rank. +</p> +<p> +Approaching them, the youth greeted them in a harsh and hoarse voice but +with great courtesy. Don Quixote returned his salutation with equal +politeness, and dismounting from Rocinante advanced with well-bred bearing +and grace to embrace him, and held him for some time close in his arms as +if he had known him for a long time. The other, whom we may call the +Ragged One of the Sorry Countenance, as Don Quixote was of the Rueful, +after submitting to the embrace pushed him back a little and, placing his +hands on Don Quixote’s shoulders, stood gazing at him as if seeking to see +whether he knew him, not less amazed, perhaps, at the sight of the face, +figure, and armour of Don Quixote than Don Quixote was at the sight of +him. To be brief, the first to speak after embracing was the Ragged One, +and he said what will be told farther on. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c23i" id="c23i"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c23i.jpg (53K)" src="images/c23i.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c23i.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch24" id="ch24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIERRA MORENA +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c24a" id="c24a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c24a.jpg (151K)" src="images/c24a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c24a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +The history relates that it was with the greatest attention Don Quixote +listened to the ragged knight of the Sierra, who began by saying: +</p> +<p> +“Of a surety, señor, whoever you are, for I know you not, I thank you for +the proofs of kindness and courtesy you have shown me, and would I were in +a condition to requite with something more than good-will that which you +have displayed towards me in the cordial reception you have given me; but +my fate does not afford me any other means of returning kindnesses done me +save the hearty desire to repay them.” +</p> +<p> +“Mine,” replied Don Quixote, “is to be of service to you, so much so that +I had resolved not to quit these mountains until I had found you, and +learned of you whether there is any kind of relief to be found for that +sorrow under which from the strangeness of your life you seem to labour; +and to search for you with all possible diligence, if search had been +necessary. And if your misfortune should prove to be one of those that +refuse admission to any sort of consolation, it was my purpose to join you +in lamenting and mourning over it, so far as I could; for it is still some +comfort in misfortune to find one who can feel for it. And if my good +intentions deserve to be acknowledged with any kind of courtesy, I entreat +you, señor, by that which I perceive you possess in so high a degree, and +likewise conjure you by whatever you love or have loved best in life, to +tell me who you are and the cause that has brought you to live or die in +these solitudes like a brute beast, dwelling among them in a manner so +foreign to your condition as your garb and appearance show. And I swear,” +added Don Quixote, “by the order of knighthood which I have received, and +by my vocation of knight-errant, if you gratify me in this, to serve you +with all the zeal my calling demands of me, either in relieving your +misfortune if it admits of relief, or in joining you in lamenting it as I +promised to do.” +</p> +<p> +The Knight of the Thicket, hearing him of the Rueful Countenance talk in +this strain, did nothing but stare at him, and stare at him again, and +again survey him from head to foot; and when he had thoroughly examined +him, he said to him: +</p> +<p> +“If you have anything to give me to eat, for God’s sake give it me, and +after I have eaten I will do all you ask in acknowledgment of the goodwill +you have displayed towards me.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho from his sack, and the goatherd from his pouch, furnished the +Ragged One with the means of appeasing his hunger, and what they gave him +he ate like a half-witted being, so hastily that he took no time between +mouthfuls, gorging rather than swallowing; and while he ate neither he nor +they who observed him uttered a word. As soon as he had done he made signs +to them to follow him, which they did, and he led them to a green plot +which lay a little farther off round the corner of a rock. On reaching it +he stretched himself upon the grass, and the others did the same, all +keeping silence, until the Ragged One, settling himself in his place, +said: +</p> +<p> +“If it is your wish, sirs, that I should disclose in a few words the +surpassing extent of my misfortunes, you must promise not to break the +thread of my sad story with any question or other interruption, for the +instant you do so the tale I tell will come to an end.” +</p> +<p> +These words of the Ragged One reminded Don Quixote of the tale his squire +had told him, when he failed to keep count of the goats that had crossed +the river and the story remained unfinished; but to return to the Ragged +One, he went on to say: +</p> +<p> +“I give you this warning because I wish to pass briefly over the story of +my misfortunes, for recalling them to memory only serves to add fresh +ones, and the less you question me the sooner shall I make an end of the +recital, though I shall not omit to relate anything of importance in order +fully to satisfy your curiosity.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote gave the promise for himself and the others, and with this +assurance he began as follows: +</p> +<p> +“My name is Cardenio, my birthplace one of the best cities of this +Andalusia, my family noble, my parents rich, my misfortune so great that +my parents must have wept and my family grieved over it without being able +by their wealth to lighten it; for the gifts of fortune can do little to +relieve reverses sent by Heaven. In that same country there was a heaven +in which love had placed all the glory I could desire; such was the beauty +of Luscinda, a damsel as noble and as rich as I, but of happier fortunes, +and of less firmness than was due to so worthy a passion as mine. This +Luscinda I loved, worshipped, and adored from my earliest and tenderest +years, and she loved me in all the innocence and sincerity of childhood. +Our parents were aware of our feelings, and were not sorry to perceive +them, for they saw clearly that as they ripened they must lead at last to +a marriage between us, a thing that seemed almost prearranged by the +equality of our families and wealth. We grew up, and with our growth grew +the love between us, so that the father of Luscinda felt bound for +propriety’s sake to refuse me admission to his house, in this perhaps +imitating the parents of that Thisbe so celebrated by the poets, and this +refusal but added love to love and flame to flame; for though they +enforced silence upon our tongues they could not impose it upon our pens, +which can make known the heart’s secrets to a loved one more freely than +tongues; for many a time the presence of the object of love shakes the +firmest will and strikes dumb the boldest tongue. Ah heavens! how many +letters did I write her, and how many dainty modest replies did I receive! +how many ditties and love-songs did I compose in which my heart declared +and made known its feelings, described its ardent longings, revelled in +its recollections and dallied with its desires! At length growing +impatient and feeling my heart languishing with longing to see her, I +resolved to put into execution and carry out what seemed to me the best +mode of winning my desired and merited reward, to ask her of her father +for my lawful wife, which I did. To this his answer was that he thanked me +for the disposition I showed to do honour to him and to regard myself as +honoured by the bestowal of his treasure; but that as my father was alive +it was his by right to make this demand, for if it were not in accordance +with his full will and pleasure, Luscinda was not to be taken or given by +stealth. I thanked him for his kindness, reflecting that there was reason +in what he said, and that my father would assent to it as soon as I should +tell him, and with that view I went the very same instant to let him know +what my desires were. When I entered the room where he was I found him +with an open letter in his hand, which, before I could utter a word, he +gave me, saying, ‘By this letter thou wilt see, Cardenio, the disposition +the Duke Ricardo has to serve thee.’ This Duke Ricardo, as you, sirs, +probably know already, is a grandee of Spain who has his seat in the best +part of this Andalusia. I took and read the letter, which was couched in +terms so flattering that even I myself felt it would be wrong in my father +not to comply with the request the duke made in it, which was that he +would send me immediately to him, as he wished me to become the companion, +not servant, of his eldest son, and would take upon himself the charge of +placing me in a position corresponding to the esteem in which he held me. +On reading the letter my voice failed me, and still more when I heard my +father say, ‘Two days hence thou wilt depart, Cardenio, in accordance with +the duke’s wish, and give thanks to God who is opening a road to thee by +which thou mayest attain what I know thou dost deserve; and to these words +he added others of fatherly counsel. The time for my departure arrived; I +spoke one night to Luscinda, I told her all that had occurred, as I did +also to her father, entreating him to allow some delay, and to defer the +disposal of her hand until I should see what the Duke Ricardo sought of +me: he gave me the promise, and she confirmed it with vows and swoonings +unnumbered. Finally, I presented myself to the duke, and was received and +treated by him so kindly that very soon envy began to do its work, the old +servants growing envious of me, and regarding the duke’s inclination to +show me favour as an injury to themselves. But the one to whom my arrival +gave the greatest pleasure was the duke’s second son, Fernando by name, a +gallant youth, of noble, generous, and amorous disposition, who very soon +made so intimate a friend of me that it was remarked by everybody; for +though the elder was attached to me, and showed me kindness, he did not +carry his affectionate treatment to the same length as Don Fernando. It so +happened, then, that as between friends no secret remains unshared, and as +the favour I enjoyed with Don Fernando had grown into friendship, he made +all his thoughts known to me, and in particular a love affair which +troubled his mind a little. He was deeply in love with a peasant girl, a +vassal of his father’s, the daughter of wealthy parents, and herself so +beautiful, modest, discreet, and virtuous, that no one who knew her was +able to decide in which of these respects she was most highly gifted or +most excelled. The attractions of the fair peasant raised the passion of +Don Fernando to such a point that, in order to gain his object and +overcome her virtuous resolutions, he determined to pledge his word to her +to become her husband, for to attempt it in any other way was to attempt +an impossibility. Bound to him as I was by friendship, I strove by the +best arguments and the most forcible examples I could think of to restrain +and dissuade him from such a course; but perceiving I produced no effect I +resolved to make the Duke Ricardo, his father, acquainted with the matter; +but Don Fernando, being sharp-witted and shrewd, foresaw and apprehended +this, perceiving that by my duty as a good servant I was bound not to keep +concealed a thing so much opposed to the honour of my lord the duke; and +so, to mislead and deceive me, he told me he could find no better way of +effacing from his mind the beauty that so enslaved him than by absenting +himself for some months, and that he wished the absence to be effected by +our going, both of us, to my father’s house under the pretence, which he +would make to the duke, of going to see and buy some fine horses that +there were in my city, which produces the best in the world. When I heard +him say so, even if his resolution had not been so good a one I should +have hailed it as one of the happiest that could be imagined, prompted by +my affection, seeing what a favourable chance and opportunity it offered +me of returning to see my Luscinda. With this thought and wish I commended +his idea and encouraged his design, advising him to put it into execution +as quickly as possible, as, in truth, absence produced its effect in spite +of the most deeply rooted feelings. But, as afterwards appeared, when he +said this to me he had already enjoyed the peasant girl under the title of +husband, and was waiting for an opportunity of making it known with safety +to himself, being in dread of what his father the duke would do when he +came to know of his folly. It happened, then, that as with young men love +is for the most part nothing more than appetite, which, as its final +object is enjoyment, comes to an end on obtaining it, and that which +seemed to be love takes to flight, as it cannot pass the limit fixed by +nature, which fixes no limit to true love—what I mean is that after +Don Fernando had enjoyed this peasant girl his passion subsided and his +eagerness cooled, and if at first he feigned a wish to absent himself in +order to cure his love, he was now in reality anxious to go to avoid +keeping his promise. +</p> +<p> +“The duke gave him permission, and ordered me to accompany him; we arrived +at my city, and my father gave him the reception due to his rank; I saw +Luscinda without delay, and, though it had not been dead or deadened, my +love gathered fresh life. To my sorrow I told the story of it to Don +Fernando, for I thought that in virtue of the great friendship he bore me +I was bound to conceal nothing from him. I extolled her beauty, her +gaiety, her wit, so warmly, that my praises excited in him a desire to see +a damsel adorned by such attractions. To my misfortune I yielded to it, +showing her to him one night by the light of a taper at a window where we +used to talk to one another. As she appeared to him in her dressing-gown, +she drove all the beauties he had seen until then out of his recollection; +speech failed him, his head turned, he was spell-bound, and in the end +love-smitten, as you will see in the course of the story of my misfortune; +and to inflame still further his passion, which he hid from me and +revealed to Heaven alone, it so happened that one day he found a note of +hers entreating me to demand her of her father in marriage, so delicate, +so modest, and so tender, that on reading it he told me that in Luscinda +alone were combined all the charms of beauty and understanding that were +distributed among all the other women in the world. It is true, and I own +it now, that though I knew what good cause Don Fernando had to praise +Luscinda, it gave me uneasiness to hear these praises from his mouth, and +I began to fear, and with reason to feel distrust of him, for there was no +moment when he was not ready to talk of Luscinda, and he would start the +subject himself even though he dragged it in unseasonably, a circumstance +that aroused in me a certain amount of jealousy; not that I feared any +change in the constancy or faith of Luscinda; but still my fate led me to +forebode what she assured me against. Don Fernando contrived always to +read the letters I sent to Luscinda and her answers to me, under the +pretence that he enjoyed the wit and sense of both. It so happened, then, +that Luscinda having begged of me a book of chivalry to read, one that she +was very fond of, Amadis of Gaul—” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote no sooner heard a book of chivalry mentioned, than he said: +</p> +<p> +“Had your worship told me at the beginning of your story that the Lady +Luscinda was fond of books of chivalry, no other laudation would have been +requisite to impress upon me the superiority of her understanding, for it +could not have been of the excellence you describe had a taste for such +delightful reading been wanting; so, as far as I am concerned, you need +waste no more words in describing her beauty, worth, and intelligence; +for, on merely hearing what her taste was, I declare her to be the most +beautiful and the most intelligent woman in the world; and I wish your +worship had, along with Amadis of Gaul, sent her the worthy Don Rugel of +Greece, for I know the Lady Luscinda would greatly relish Daraida and +Garaya, and the shrewd sayings of the shepherd Darinel, and the admirable +verses of his bucolics, sung and delivered by him with such sprightliness, +wit, and ease; but a time may come when this omission can be remedied, and +to rectify it nothing more is needed than for your worship to be so good +as to come with me to my village, for there I can give you more than three +hundred books which are the delight of my soul and the entertainment of my +life;—though it occurs to me that I have not got one of them now, +thanks to the spite of wicked and envious enchanters;—but pardon me +for having broken the promise we made not to interrupt your discourse; for +when I hear chivalry or knights-errant mentioned, I can no more help +talking about them than the rays of the sun can help giving heat, or those +of the moon moisture; pardon me, therefore, and proceed, for that is more +to the purpose now.” +</p> +<p> +While Don Quixote was saying this, Cardenio allowed his head to fall upon +his breast, and seemed plunged in deep thought; and though twice Don +Quixote bade him go on with his story, he neither looked up nor uttered a +word in reply; but after some time he raised his head and said, “I cannot +get rid of the idea, nor will anyone in the world remove it, or make me +think otherwise—and he would be a blockhead who would hold or +believe anything else than that that arrant knave Master Elisabad made +free with Queen Madasima.” +</p> +<p> +“That is not true, by all that’s good,” said Don Quixote in high wrath, +turning upon him angrily, as his way was; “and it is a very great slander, +or rather villainy. Queen Madasima was a very illustrious lady, and it is +not to be supposed that so exalted a princess would have made free with a +quack; and whoever maintains the contrary lies like a great scoundrel, and +I will give him to know it, on foot or on horseback, armed or unarmed, by +night or by day, or as he likes best.” +</p> +<p> +Cardenio was looking at him steadily, and his mad fit having now come upon +him, he had no disposition to go on with his story, nor would Don Quixote +have listened to it, so much had what he had heard about Madasima +disgusted him. Strange to say, he stood up for her as if she were in +earnest his veritable born lady; to such a pass had his unholy books +brought him. Cardenio, then, being, as I said, now mad, when he heard +himself given the lie, and called a scoundrel and other insulting names, +not relishing the jest, snatched up a stone that he found near him, and +with it delivered such a blow on Don Quixote’s breast that he laid him on +his back. Sancho Panza, seeing his master treated in this fashion, +attacked the madman with his closed fist; but the Ragged One received him +in such a way that with a blow of his fist he stretched him at his feet, +and then mounting upon him crushed his ribs to his own satisfaction; the +goatherd, who came to the rescue, shared the same fate; and having beaten +and pummelled them all he left them and quietly withdrew to his +hiding-place on the mountain. Sancho rose, and with the rage he felt at +finding himself so belaboured without deserving it, ran to take vengeance +on the goatherd, accusing him of not giving them warning that this man was +at times taken with a mad fit, for if they had known it they would have +been on their guard to protect themselves. The goatherd replied that he +had said so, and that if he had not heard him, that was no fault of his. +Sancho retorted, and the goatherd rejoined, and the altercation ended in +their seizing each other by the beard, and exchanging such fisticuffs that +if Don Quixote had not made peace between them, they would have knocked +one another to pieces. +</p> +<p> +“Leave me alone, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance,” said Sancho, +grappling with the goatherd, “for of this fellow, who is a clown like +myself, and no dubbed knight, I can safely take satisfaction for the +affront he has offered me, fighting with him hand to hand like an honest +man.” +</p> +<p> +“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “but I know that he is not to blame for +what has happened.” +</p> +<p> +With this he pacified them, and again asked the goatherd if it would be +possible to find Cardenio, as he felt the greatest anxiety to know the end +of his story. The goatherd told him, as he had told him before, that there +was no knowing of a certainty where his lair was; but that if he wandered +about much in that neighbourhood he could not fail to fall in with him +either in or out of his senses. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c24e" id="c24e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c24e.jpg (69K)" src="images/c24e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c24e.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch25" id="ch25"></a>CHAPTER XXV. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO THE STOUT KNIGHT OF LA +MANCHA IN THE SIERRA MORENA, AND OF HIS IMITATION OF THE PENANCE OF +BELTENEBROS +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c25a" id="c25a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c25a.jpg (168K)" src="images/c25a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c25a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote took leave of the goatherd, and once more mounting Rocinante +bade Sancho follow him, which he having no ass, did very discontentedly. +They proceeded slowly, making their way into the most rugged part of the +mountain, Sancho all the while dying to have a talk with his master, and +longing for him to begin, so that there should be no breach of the +injunction laid upon him; but unable to keep silence so long he said to +him: +</p> +<p> +“Señor Don Quixote, give me your worship’s blessing and dismissal, for I’d +like to go home at once to my wife and children with whom I can at any +rate talk and converse as much as I like; for to want me to go through +these solitudes day and night and not speak to you when I have a mind is +burying me alive. If luck would have it that animals spoke as they did in +the days of Guisopete, it would not be so bad, because I could talk to +Rocinante about whatever came into my head, and so put up with my +ill-fortune; but it is a hard case, and not to be borne with patience, to +go seeking adventures all one’s life and get nothing but kicks and +blanketings, brickbats and punches, and with all this to have to sew up +one’s mouth without daring to say what is in one’s heart, just as if one +were dumb.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand thee, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “thou art dying to have +the interdict I placed upon thy tongue removed; consider it removed, and +say what thou wilt while we are wandering in these mountains.” +</p> +<p> +“So be it,” said Sancho; “let me speak now, for God knows what will happen +by-and-by; and to take advantage of the permit at once, I ask, what made +your worship stand up so for that Queen Majimasa, or whatever her name is, +or what did it matter whether that abbot was a friend of hers or not? for +if your worship had let that pass—and you were not a judge in the +matter—it is my belief the madman would have gone on with his story, +and the blow of the stone, and the kicks, and more than half a dozen cuffs +would have been escaped.” +</p> +<p> +“In faith, Sancho,” answered Don Quixote, “if thou knewest as I do what an +honourable and illustrious lady Queen Madasima was, I know thou wouldst +say I had great patience that I did not break in pieces the mouth that +uttered such blasphemies, for a very great blasphemy it is to say or +imagine that a queen has made free with a surgeon. The truth of the story +is that that Master Elisabad whom the madman mentioned was a man of great +prudence and sound judgment, and served as governor and physician to the +queen, but to suppose that she was his mistress is nonsense deserving very +severe punishment; and as a proof that Cardenio did not know what he was +saying, remember when he said it he was out of his wits.” +</p> +<p> +“That is what I say,” said Sancho; “there was no occasion for minding the +words of a madman; for if good luck had not helped your worship, and he +had sent that stone at your head instead of at your breast, a fine way we +should have been in for standing up for my lady yonder, God confound her! +And then, would not Cardenio have gone free as a madman?” +</p> +<p> +“Against men in their senses or against madmen,” said Don Quixote, “every +knight-errant is bound to stand up for the honour of women, whoever they +may be, much more for queens of such high degree and dignity as Queen +Madasima, for whom I have a particular regard on account of her amiable +qualities; for, besides being extremely beautiful, she was very wise, and +very patient under her misfortunes, of which she had many; and the counsel +and society of the Master Elisabad were a great help and support to her in +enduring her afflictions with wisdom and resignation; hence the ignorant +and ill-disposed vulgar took occasion to say and think that she was his +mistress; and they lie, I say it once more, and will lie two hundred times +more, all who think and say so.” +</p> +<p> +“I neither say nor think so,” said Sancho; “let them look to +it; with their bread let them eat it; they have rendered account to God whether +they misbehaved or not; I come from my vineyard, I know nothing; I am not fond +of prying into other men’s lives; he who buys and lies feels it in his +purse; moreover, naked was I born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor +gain; but if they did, what is that to me? many think there are flitches where +there are no hooks; but who can put gates to the open plain? moreover they said +of God—” +</p> +<p> +“God bless me,” said Don Quixote, “what a set of absurdities thou art +stringing together! What has what we are talking about got to do with the +proverbs thou art threading one after the other? for God’s sake hold thy +tongue, Sancho, and henceforward keep to prodding thy ass and don’t meddle +in what does not concern thee; and understand with all thy five senses +that everything I have done, am doing, or shall do, is well founded on +reason and in conformity with the rules of chivalry, for I understand them +better than all the world that profess them.” +</p> +<p> +“Señor,” replied Sancho, “is it a good rule of chivalry that we should go +astray through these mountains without path or road, looking for a madman +who when he is found will perhaps take a fancy to finish what he began, +not his story, but your worship’s head and my ribs, and end by breaking +them altogether for us?” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c25b" id="c25b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c25b.jpg (330K)" src="images/c25b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c25b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Peace, I say again, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for let me tell thee it +is not so much the desire of finding that madman that leads me into these +regions as that which I have of performing among them an achievement +wherewith I shall win eternal name and fame throughout the known world; +and it shall be such that I shall thereby set the seal on all that can +make a knight-errant perfect and famous.” +</p> +<p> +“And is it very perilous, this achievement?” +</p> +<p> +“No,” replied he of the Rueful Countenance; “though it may be in the dice +that we may throw deuce-ace instead of sixes; but all will depend on thy +diligence.” +</p> +<p> +“On my diligence!” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Don Quixote, “for if thou dost return soon from the place +where I mean to send thee, my penance will be soon over, and my glory will +soon begin. But as it is not right to keep thee any longer in suspense, +waiting to see what comes of my words, I would have thee know, Sancho, +that the famous Amadis of Gaul was one of the most perfect knights-errant—I +am wrong to say he was one; he stood alone, the first, the only one, the +lord of all that were in the world in his time. A fig for Don Belianis, +and for all who say he equalled him in any respect, for, my oath upon it, +they are deceiving themselves! I say, too, that when a painter desires to +become famous in his art he endeavours to copy the originals of the rarest +painters that he knows; and the same rule holds good for all the most +important crafts and callings that serve to adorn a state; thus must he +who would be esteemed prudent and patient imitate Ulysses, in whose person +and labours Homer presents to us a lively picture of prudence and +patience; as Virgil, too, shows us in the person of Æneas the virtue of a +pious son and the sagacity of a brave and skilful captain; not +representing or describing them as they were, but as they ought to be, so +as to leave the example of their virtues to posterity. In the same way +Amadis was the polestar, day-star, sun of valiant and devoted knights, +whom all we who fight under the banner of love and chivalry are bound to +imitate. This, then, being so, I consider, friend Sancho, that the +knight-errant who shall imitate him most closely will come nearest to +reaching the perfection of chivalry. Now one of the instances in which +this knight most conspicuously showed his prudence, worth, valour, +endurance, fortitude, and love, was when he withdrew, rejected by the Lady +Oriana, to do penance upon the Pena Pobre, changing his name into that of +Beltenebros, a name assuredly significant and appropriate to the life +which he had voluntarily adopted. So, as it is easier for me to imitate +him in this than in cleaving giants asunder, cutting off serpents’ heads, +slaying dragons, routing armies, destroying fleets, and breaking +enchantments, and as this place is so well suited for a similar purpose, I +must not allow the opportunity to escape which now so conveniently offers +me its forelock.” +</p> +<p> +“What is it in reality,” said Sancho, “that your worship means to do in +such an out-of-the-way place as this?” +</p> +<p> +“Have I not told thee,” answered Don Quixote, “that I mean to +imitate Amadis here, playing the victim of despair, the madman, the maniac, so +as at the same time to imitate the valiant Don Roland, when at the fountain he +had evidence of the fair Angelica having disgraced herself with Medoro and +through grief thereat went mad, and plucked up trees, troubled the waters of +the clear springs, slew shepherds, destroyed flocks, burned down huts, levelled +houses, dragged mares after him, and perpetrated a hundred thousand other +outrages worthy of everlasting renown and record? And though I have no +intention of imitating Roland, or Orlando, or Rotolando (for he went by all +these names), step by step in all the mad things he did, said, and thought, I +will make a rough copy to the best of my power of all that seems to me most +essential; but perhaps I shall content myself with the simple imitation of +Amadis, who without giving way to any mischievous madness but merely to tears +and sorrow, gained as much fame as the most famous.” +</p> +<p> +“It seems to me,” said Sancho, “that the knights who behaved in this way +had provocation and cause for those follies and penances; but what cause +has your worship for going mad? What lady has rejected you, or what +evidence have you found to prove that the lady Dulcinea del Toboso has +been trifling with Moor or Christian?” +</p> +<p> +“There is the point,” replied Don Quixote, “and that is the beauty of this +business of mine; no thanks to a knight-errant for going mad when he has +cause; the thing is to turn crazy without any provocation, and let my lady +know, if I do this in the dry, what I would do in the moist; moreover I +have abundant cause in the long separation I have endured from my lady +till death, Dulcinea del Toboso; for as thou didst hear that shepherd +Ambrosio say the other day, in absence all ills are felt and feared; and +so, friend Sancho, waste no time in advising me against so rare, so happy, +and so unheard-of an imitation; mad I am, and mad I must be until thou +returnest with the answer to a letter that I mean to send by thee to my +lady Dulcinea; and if it be such as my constancy deserves, my insanity and +penance will come to an end; and if it be to the opposite effect, I shall +become mad in earnest, and, being so, I shall suffer no more; thus in +whatever way she may answer I shall escape from the struggle and +affliction in which thou wilt leave me, enjoying in my senses the boon +thou bearest me, or as a madman not feeling the evil thou bringest me. But +tell me, Sancho, hast thou got Mambrino’s helmet safe? for I saw thee take +it up from the ground when that ungrateful wretch tried to break it in +pieces but could not, by which the fineness of its temper may be seen.” +</p> +<p> +To which Sancho made answer, “By the living God, Sir Knight of the Rueful +Countenance, I cannot endure or bear with patience some of the things that +your worship says; and from them I begin to suspect that all you tell me +about chivalry, and winning kingdoms and empires, and giving islands, and +bestowing other rewards and dignities after the custom of knights-errant, +must be all made up of wind and lies, and all pigments or figments, or +whatever we may call them; for what would anyone think that heard your +worship calling a barber’s basin Mambrino’s helmet without ever seeing the +mistake all this time, but that one who says and maintains such things +must have his brains addled? I have the basin in my sack all dinted, and I +am taking it home to have it mended, to trim my beard in it, if, by God’s +grace, I am allowed to see my wife and children some day or other.” +</p> +<p> +“Look here, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “by him thou didst swear by just +now I swear thou hast the most limited understanding that any squire in +the world has or ever had. Is it possible that all this time thou hast +been going about with me thou hast never found out that all things +belonging to knights-errant seem to be illusions and nonsense and ravings, +and to go always by contraries? And not because it really is so, but +because there is always a swarm of enchanters in attendance upon us that +change and alter everything with us, and turn things as they please, and +according as they are disposed to aid or destroy us; thus what seems to +thee a barber’s basin seems to me Mambrino’s helmet, and to another it +will seem something else; and rare foresight it was in the sage who is on +my side to make what is really and truly Mambrine’s helmet seem a basin to +everybody, for, being held in such estimation as it is, all the world +would pursue me to rob me of it; but when they see it is only a barber’s +basin they do not take the trouble to obtain it; as was plainly shown by +him who tried to break it, and left it on the ground without taking it, +for, by my faith, had he known it he would never have left it behind. Keep +it safe, my friend, for just now I have no need of it; indeed, I shall +have to take off all this armour and remain as naked as I was born, if I +have a mind to follow Roland rather than Amadis in my penance.” +</p> +<p> +Thus talking they reached the foot of a high mountain which stood like an +isolated peak among the others that surrounded it. Past its base there +flowed a gentle brook, all around it spread a meadow so green and +luxuriant that it was a delight to the eyes to look upon it, and forest +trees in abundance, and shrubs and flowers, added to the charms of the +spot. Upon this place the Knight of the Rueful Countenance fixed his +choice for the performance of his penance, and as he beheld it exclaimed +in a loud voice as though he were out of his senses: +</p> +<p> +“This is the place, oh, ye heavens, that I select and choose for bewailing +the misfortune in which ye yourselves have plunged me: this is the spot +where the overflowings of mine eyes shall swell the waters of yon little +brook, and my deep and endless sighs shall stir unceasingly the leaves of +these mountain trees, in testimony and token of the pain my persecuted +heart is suffering. Oh, ye rural deities, whoever ye be that haunt this +lone spot, give ear to the complaint of a wretched lover whom long absence +and brooding jealousy have driven to bewail his fate among these wilds and +complain of the hard heart of that fair and ungrateful one, the end and +limit of all human beauty! Oh, ye wood nymphs and dryads, that dwell in +the thickets of the forest, so may the nimble wanton satyrs by whom ye are +vainly wooed never disturb your sweet repose, help me to lament my hard +fate or at least weary not at listening to it! Oh, Dulcinea del Toboso, +day of my night, glory of my pain, guide of my path, star of my fortune, +so may Heaven grant thee in full all thou seekest of it, bethink thee of +the place and condition to which absence from thee has brought me, and +make that return in kindness that is due to my fidelity! Oh, lonely trees, +that from this day forward shall bear me company in my solitude, give me +some sign by the gentle movement of your boughs that my presence is not +distasteful to you! Oh, thou, my squire, pleasant companion in my +prosperous and adverse fortunes, fix well in thy memory what thou shalt +see me do here, so that thou mayest relate and report it to the sole cause +of all,” and so saying he dismounted from Rocinante, and in an instant +relieved him of saddle and bridle, and giving him a slap on the croup, +said, “He gives thee freedom who is bereft of it himself, oh steed as +excellent in deed as thou art unfortunate in thy lot; begone where thou +wilt, for thou bearest written on thy forehead that neither Astolfo’s +hippogriff, nor the famed Frontino that cost Bradamante so dear, could +equal thee in speed.” +</p> +<p> +Seeing this Sancho said, “Good luck to him who has saved us the trouble of +stripping the pack-saddle off Dapple! By my faith he would not have gone +without a slap on the croup and something said in his praise; though if he +were here I would not let anyone strip him, for there would be no +occasion, as he had nothing of the lover or victim of despair about him, +inasmuch as his master, which I was while it was God’s pleasure, was +nothing of the sort; and indeed, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, if +my departure and your worship’s madness are to come off in earnest, it +will be as well to saddle Rocinante again in order that he may supply the +want of Dapple, because it will save me time in going and returning: for +if I go on foot I don’t know when I shall get there or when I shall get +back, as I am, in truth, a bad walker.” +</p> +<p> +“I declare, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote, “it shall be as thou wilt, for +thy plan does not seem to me a bad one, and three days hence thou wilt +depart, for I wish thee to observe in the meantime what I do and say for +her sake, that thou mayest be able to tell it.” +</p> +<p> +“But what more have I to see besides what I have seen?” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“Much thou knowest about it!” said Don Quixote. “I have now got to tear up +my garments, to scatter about my armour, knock my head against these +rocks, and more of the same sort of thing, which thou must witness.” +</p> +<p> +“For the love of God,” said Sancho, “be careful, your worship, how you +give yourself those knocks on the head, for you may come across such a +rock, and in such a way, that the very first may put an end to the whole +contrivance of this penance; and I should think, if indeed knocks on the +head seem necessary to you, and this business cannot be done without them, +you might be content—as the whole thing is feigned, and counterfeit, +and in joke—you might be content, I say, with giving them to +yourself in the water, or against something soft, like cotton; and leave +it all to me; for I’ll tell my lady that your worship knocked your head +against a point of rock harder than a diamond.” +</p> +<p> +“I thank thee for thy good intentions, friend Sancho,” answered Don +Quixote, “but I would have thee know that all these things I am doing are +not in joke, but very much in earnest, for anything else would be a +transgression of the ordinances of chivalry, which forbid us to tell any +lie whatever under the penalties due to apostasy; and to do one thing +instead of another is just the same as lying; so my knocks on the head +must be real, solid, and valid, without anything sophisticated or fanciful +about them, and it will be needful to leave me some lint to dress my +wounds, since fortune has compelled us to do without the balsam we lost.” +</p> +<p> +“It was worse losing the ass,” replied Sancho, “for with him lint and all +were lost; but I beg of your worship not to remind me again of that +accursed liquor, for my soul, not to say my stomach, turns at hearing the +very name of it; and I beg of you, too, to reckon as past the three days +you allowed me for seeing the mad things you do, for I take them as seen +already and pronounced upon, and I will tell wonderful stories to my lady; +so write the letter and send me off at once, for I long to return and take +your worship out of this purgatory where I am leaving you.” +</p> +<p> +“Purgatory dost thou call it, Sancho?” said Don Quixote, “rather call it +hell, or even worse if there be anything worse.” +</p> +<p> +“For one who is in hell,” said Sancho, “nulla est retentio, as I have +heard say.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not understand what retentio means,” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Retentio,” answered Sancho, “means that whoever is in hell never comes +nor can come out of it, which will be the opposite case with your worship +or my legs will be idle, that is if I have spurs to enliven Rocinante: let +me once get to El Toboso and into the presence of my lady Dulcinea, and I +will tell her such things of the follies and madnesses (for it is all one) +that your worship has done and is still doing, that I will manage to make +her softer than a glove though I find her harder than a cork tree; and +with her sweet and honeyed answer I will come back through the air like a +witch, and take your worship out of this purgatory that seems to be hell +but is not, as there is hope of getting out of it; which, as I have said, +those in hell have not, and I believe your worship will not say anything +to the contrary.” +</p> +<p> +“That is true,” said he of the Rueful Countenance, “but how shall we +manage to write the letter?” +</p> +<p> +“And the ass-colt order too,” added Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“All shall be included,” said Don Quixote; “and as there is no paper, it +would be well done to write it on the leaves of trees, as the ancients +did, or on tablets of wax; though that would be as hard to find just now +as paper. But it has just occurred to me how it may be conveniently and +even more than conveniently written, and that is in the note-book that +belonged to Cardenio, and thou wilt take care to have it copied on paper, +in a good hand, at the first village thou comest to where there is a +schoolmaster, or if not, any sacristan will copy it; but see thou give it +not to any notary to copy, for they write a law hand that Satan could not +make out.” +</p> +<p> +“But what is to be done about the signature?” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“The letters of Amadis were never signed,” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“That is all very well,” said Sancho, “but the order must needs be signed, +and if it is copied they will say the signature is false, and I shall be +left without ass-colts.” +</p> +<p> +“The order shall go signed in the same book,” said Don Quixote, “and on +seeing it my niece will make no difficulty about obeying it; as to the +loveletter thou canst put by way of signature, ‘Yours till death, the +Knight of the Rueful Countenance.’ And it will be no great matter if it is +in some other person’s hand, for as well as I recollect Dulcinea can +neither read nor write, nor in the whole course of her life has she seen +handwriting or letter of mine, for my love and hers have been always +platonic, not going beyond a modest look, and even that so seldom that I +can safely swear I have not seen her four times in all these twelve years +I have been loving her more than the light of these eyes that the earth +will one day devour; and perhaps even of those four times she has not once +perceived that I was looking at her: such is the retirement and seclusion +in which her father Lorenzo Corchuelo and her mother Aldonza Nogales have +brought her up.” +</p> +<p> +“So, so!” said Sancho; “Lorenzo Corchuelo’s daughter is the lady Dulcinea +del Toboso, otherwise called Aldonza Lorenzo?” +</p> +<p> +“She it is,” said Don Quixote, “and she it is that is worthy to be lady of +the whole universe.” +</p> +<p> +“I know her well,” said Sancho, “and let me tell you she can fling a +crowbar as well as the lustiest lad in all the town. Giver of all good! +but she is a brave lass, and a right and stout one, and fit to be helpmate +to any knight-errant that is or is to be, who may make her his lady: the +whoreson wench, what sting she has and what a voice! I can tell you one +day she posted herself on the top of the belfry of the village to call +some labourers of theirs that were in a ploughed field of her father’s, +and though they were better than half a league off they heard her as well +as if they were at the foot of the tower; and the best of her is that she +is not a bit prudish, for she has plenty of affability, and jokes with +everybody, and has a grin and a jest for everything. So, Sir Knight of the +Rueful Countenance, I say you not only may and ought to do mad freaks for +her sake, but you have a good right to give way to despair and hang +yourself; and no one who knows of it but will say you did well, though the +devil should take you; and I wish I were on my road already, simply to see +her, for it is many a day since I saw her, and she must be altered by this +time, for going about the fields always, and the sun and the air spoil +women’s looks greatly. But I must own the truth to your worship, Señor Don +Quixote; until now I have been under a great mistake, for I believed truly +and honestly that the lady Dulcinea must be some princess your worship was +in love with, or some person great enough to deserve the rich presents you +have sent her, such as the Biscayan and the galley slaves, and many more +no doubt, for your worship must have won many victories in the time when I +was not yet your squire. But all things considered, what good can it do +the lady Aldonza Lorenzo, I mean the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, to have the +vanquished your worship sends or will send coming to her and going down on +their knees before her? Because may be when they came she’d be hackling +flax or threshing on the threshing floor, and they’d be ashamed to see +her, and she’d laugh, or resent the present.” +</p> +<p> +“I have before now told thee many times, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that +thou art a mighty great chatterer, and that with a blunt wit thou art +always striving at sharpness; but to show thee what a fool thou art and +how rational I am, I would have thee listen to a short story. Thou must +know that a certain widow, fair, young, independent, and rich, and above +all free and easy, fell in love with a sturdy strapping young lay-brother; +his superior came to know of it, and one day said to the worthy widow by +way of brotherly remonstrance, ‘I am surprised, señora, and not without +good reason, that a woman of such high standing, so fair, and so rich as +you are, should have fallen in love with such a mean, low, stupid fellow +as So-and-so, when in this house there are so many masters, graduates, and +divinity students from among whom you might choose as if they were a lot +of pears, saying this one I’ll take, that I won’t take;’ but she replied +to him with great sprightliness and candour, ‘My dear sir, you are very +much mistaken, and your ideas are very old-fashioned, if you think that I +have made a bad choice in So-and-so, fool as he seems; because for all I +want with him he knows as much and more philosophy than Aristotle.’ In the +same way, Sancho, for all I want with Dulcinea del Toboso she is just as +good as the most exalted princess on earth. It is not to be supposed that +all those poets who sang the praises of ladies under the fancy names they +give them, had any such mistresses. Thinkest thou that the Amarillises, +the Phillises, the Sylvias, the Dianas, the Galateas, the Filidas, and all +the rest of them, that the books, the ballads, the barber’s shops, the +theatres are full of, were really and truly ladies of flesh and blood, and +mistresses of those that glorify and have glorified them? Nothing of the +kind; they only invent them for the most part to furnish a subject for +their verses, and that they may pass for lovers, or for men valiant enough +to be so; and so it suffices me to think and believe that the good Aldonza +Lorenzo is fair and virtuous; and as to her pedigree it is very little +matter, for no one will examine into it for the purpose of conferring any +order upon her, and I, for my part, reckon her the most exalted princess +in the world. For thou shouldst know, Sancho, if thou dost not know, that +two things alone beyond all others are incentives to love, and these are +great beauty and a good name, and these two things are to be found in +Dulcinea in the highest degree, for in beauty no one equals her and in +good name few approach her; and to put the whole thing in a nutshell, I +persuade myself that all I say is as I say, neither more nor less, and I +picture her in my imagination as I would have her to be, as well in beauty +as in condition; Helen approaches her not nor does Lucretia come up to +her, nor any other of the famous women of times past, Greek, Barbarian, or +Latin; and let each say what he will, for if in this I am taken to task by +the ignorant, I shall not be censured by the critical.” +</p> +<p> +“I say that your worship is entirely right,” said Sancho, “and that I am +an ass. But I know not how the name of ass came into my mouth, for a rope +is not to be mentioned in the house of him who has been hanged; but now +for the letter, and then, God be with you, I am off.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote took out the note-book, and, retiring to one side, very +deliberately began to write the letter, and when he had finished it he +called to Sancho, saying he wished to read it to him, so that he might +commit it to memory, in case of losing it on the road; for with evil +fortune like his anything might be apprehended. To which Sancho replied, +“Write it two or three times there in the book and give it to me, and I +will carry it very carefully, because to expect me to keep it in my memory +is all nonsense, for I have such a bad one that I often forget my own +name; but for all that repeat it to me, as I shall like to hear it, for +surely it will run as if it was in print.” +</p> +<p> +“Listen,” said Don Quixote, “this is what it says: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“DON QUIXOTE’S LETTER TO DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO + +“Sovereign and exalted Lady,—The pierced by the point of absence, +the wounded to the heart’s core, sends thee, sweetest Dulcinea del +Toboso, the health that he himself enjoys not. If thy beauty +despises me, if thy worth is not for me, if thy scorn is my +affliction, though I be sufficiently long-suffering, hardly shall I +endure this anxiety, which, besides being oppressive, is protracted. +My good squire Sancho will relate to thee in full, fair ingrate, +dear enemy, the condition to which I am reduced on thy account: if +it be thy pleasure to give me relief, I am thine; if not, do as may be +pleasing to thee; for by ending my life I shall satisfy thy cruelty +and my desire. + +“Thine till death, + +“The Knight of the Rueful Countenance.” +</pre> + +<p> +“By the life of my father,” said Sancho, when he heard the letter, “it is +the loftiest thing I ever heard. Body of me! how your worship says +everything as you like in it! And how well you fit in ‘The Knight of the +Rueful Countenance’ into the signature. I declare your worship is indeed +the very devil, and there is nothing you don’t know.” +</p> +<p> +“Everything is needed for the calling I follow,” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Now then,” said Sancho, “let your worship put the order for the three +ass-colts on the other side, and sign it very plainly, that they may +recognise it at first sight.” +</p> +<p> +“With all my heart,” said Don Quixote, and as he had written it he read it +to this effect: +</p> +<p> +“Mistress Niece,—By this first of ass-colts please pay to Sancho +Panza, my squire, three of the five I left at home in your charge: said +three ass-colts to be paid and delivered for the same number received here +in hand, which upon this and upon his receipt shall be duly paid. Done in +the heart of the Sierra Morena, the twenty-seventh of August of this +present year.” +</p> +<p> +“That will do,” said Sancho; “now let your worship sign it.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no need to sign it,” said Don Quixote, “but merely to put my +flourish, which is the same as a signature, and enough for three asses, or +even three hundred.” +</p> +<p> +“I can trust your worship,” returned Sancho; “let me go and saddle +Rocinante, and be ready to give me your blessing, for I mean to go at once +without seeing the fooleries your worship is going to do; I’ll say I saw +you do so many that she will not want any more.” +</p> +<p> +“At any rate, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “I should like—and there is +reason for it—I should like thee, I say, to see me stripped to the +skin and performing a dozen or two of insanities, which I can get done in +less than half an hour; for having seen them with thine own eyes, thou +canst then safely swear to the rest that thou wouldst add; and I promise +thee thou wilt not tell of as many as I mean to perform.” +</p> +<p> +“For the love of God, master mine,” said Sancho, “let me not see your +worship stripped, for it will sorely grieve me, and I shall not be able to +keep from tears, and my head aches so with all I shed last night for +Dapple, that I am not fit to begin any fresh weeping; but if it is your +worship’s pleasure that I should see some insanities, do them in your +clothes, short ones, and such as come readiest to hand; for I myself want +nothing of the sort, and, as I have said, it will be a saving of time for +my return, which will be with the news your worship desires and deserves. +If not, let the lady Dulcinea look to it; if she does not answer +reasonably, I swear as solemnly as I can that I will fetch a fair answer +out of her stomach with kicks and cuffs; for why should it be borne that a +knight-errant as famous as your worship should go mad without rhyme or +reason for a—? Her ladyship had best not drive me to say it, for by +God I will speak out and let off everything cheap, even if it doesn’t +sell: I am pretty good at that! she little knows me; faith, if she knew me +she’d be in awe of me.” +</p> +<p> +“In faith, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “to all appearance thou art no +sounder in thy wits than I.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not so mad,” answered Sancho, “but I am more peppery; but apart from +all this, what has your worship to eat until I come back? Will you sally +out on the road like Cardenio to force it from the shepherds?” +</p> +<p> +“Let not that anxiety trouble thee,” replied Don Quixote, “for even if I +had it I should not eat anything but the herbs and the fruits which this +meadow and these trees may yield me; the beauty of this business of mine +lies in not eating, and in performing other mortifications.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know what I am afraid of?” said Sancho upon this; “that I shall +not be able to find my way back to this spot where I am leaving you, it is +such an out-of-the-way place.” +</p> +<p> +“Observe the landmarks well,” said Don Quixote, “for I will try not to go +far from this neighbourhood, and I will even take care to mount the +highest of these rocks to see if I can discover thee returning; however, +not to miss me and lose thyself, the best plan will be to cut some +branches of the broom that is so abundant about here, and as thou goest to +lay them at intervals until thou hast come out upon the plain; these will +serve thee, after the fashion of the clue in the labyrinth of Theseus, as +marks and signs for finding me on thy return.” +</p> +<p> +“So I will,” said Sancho Panza, and having cut some, he asked his master’s +blessing, and not without many tears on both sides, took his leave of him, +and mounting Rocinante, of whom Don Quixote charged him earnestly to have +as much care as of his own person, he set out for the plain, strewing at +intervals the branches of broom as his master had recommended him; and so +he went his way, though Don Quixote still entreated him to see him do were +it only a couple of mad acts. He had not gone a hundred paces, however, +when he returned and said: +</p> +<p> +“I must say, señor, your worship said quite right, that in order to be +able to swear without a weight on my conscience that I had seen you do mad +things, it would be well for me to see if it were only one; though in your +worship’s remaining here I have seen a very great one.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c25c" id="c25c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c25c.jpg (261K)" src="images/c25c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c25c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Did I not tell thee so?” said Don Quixote. “Wait, Sancho, and I will do +them in the saying of a credo,” and pulling off his breeches in all haste +he stripped himself to his skin and his shirt, and then, without more ado, +he cut a couple of gambados in the air, and a couple of somersaults, heels +over head, making such a display that, not to see it a second time, Sancho +wheeled Rocinante round, and felt easy, and satisfied in his mind that he +could swear he had left his master mad; and so we will leave him to follow +his road until his return, which was a quick one. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c25e" id="c25e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c25e.jpg (20K)" src="images/c25e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch26" id="ch26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE REFINEMENTS WHEREWITH DON QUIXOTE PLAYED THE +PART OF A LOVER IN THE SIERRA MORENA +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c26a" id="c26a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c26a.jpg (111K)" src="images/c26a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c26a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Returning to the proceedings of him of the Rueful Countenance when he +found himself alone, the history says that when Don Quixote had completed +the performance of the somersaults or capers, naked from the waist down +and clothed from the waist up, and saw that Sancho had gone off without +waiting to see any more crazy feats, he climbed up to the top of a high +rock, and there set himself to consider what he had several times before +considered without ever coming to any conclusion on the point, namely +whether it would be better and more to his purpose to imitate the +outrageous madness of Roland, or the melancholy madness of Amadis; and +communing with himself he said: +</p> +<p> +“What wonder is it if Roland was so good a knight and so valiant as +everyone says he was, when, after all, he was enchanted, and nobody could +kill him save by thrusting a corking pin into the sole of his foot, and he +always wore shoes with seven iron soles? Though cunning devices did not +avail him against Bernardo del Carpio, who knew all about them, and +strangled him in his arms at Roncesvalles. But putting the question of his +valour aside, let us come to his losing his wits, for certain it is that +he did lose them in consequence of the proofs he discovered at the +fountain, and the intelligence the shepherd gave him of Angelica having +slept more than two siestas with Medoro, a little curly-headed Moor, and +page to Agramante. If he was persuaded that this was true, and that his +lady had wronged him, it is no wonder that he should have gone mad; but I, +how am I to imitate him in his madness, unless I can imitate him in the +cause of it? For my Dulcinea, I will venture to swear, never saw a Moor in +her life, as he is, in his proper costume, and she is this day as the +mother that bore her, and I should plainly be doing her a wrong if, +fancying anything else, I were to go mad with the same kind of madness as +Roland the Furious. On the other hand, I see that Amadis of Gaul, without +losing his senses and without doing anything mad, acquired as a lover as +much fame as the most famous; for, according to his history, on finding +himself rejected by his lady Oriana, who had ordered him not to appear in +her presence until it should be her pleasure, all he did was to retire to +the Pena Pobre in company with a hermit, and there he took his fill of +weeping until Heaven sent him relief in the midst of his great grief and +need. And if this be true, as it is, why should I now take the trouble to +strip stark naked, or do mischief to these trees which have done me no +harm, or why am I to disturb the clear waters of these brooks which will +give me to drink whenever I have a mind? Long live the memory of Amadis +and let him be imitated so far as is possible by Don Quixote of La Mancha, +of whom it will be said, as was said of the other, that if he did not +achieve great things, he died in attempting them; and if I am not repulsed +or rejected by my Dulcinea, it is enough for me, as I have said, to be +absent from her. And so, now to business; come to my memory ye deeds of +Amadis, and show me how I am to begin to imitate you. I know already that +what he chiefly did was to pray and commend himself to God; but what am I +to do for a rosary, for I have not got one?” +</p> +<p> +And then it occurred to him how he might make one, and that was by tearing +a great strip off the tail of his shirt which hung down, and making eleven +knots on it, one bigger than the rest, and this served him for a rosary +all the time he was there, during which he repeated countless ave-marias. +But what distressed him greatly was not having another hermit there to +confess him and receive consolation from; and so he solaced himself with +pacing up and down the little meadow, and writing and carving on the bark +of the trees and on the fine sand a multitude of verses all in harmony +with his sadness, and some in praise of Dulcinea; but, when he was found +there afterwards, the only ones completely legible that could be +discovered were those that follow here: +</p> +<blockquote> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ye on the mountain side that grow, +Ye green things all, trees, shrubs, and bushes, +Are ye aweary of the woe +That this poor aching bosom crushes? +If it disturb you, and I owe +Some reparation, it may be a +Defence for me to let you know +Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow, +And all for distant Dulcinea +Del Toboso. + +The lealest lover time can show, +Doomed for a lady-love to languish, +Among these solitudes doth go, +A prey to every kind of anguish. +Why Love should like a spiteful foe +Thus use him, he hath no idea, +But hogsheads full—this doth he know— +Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow, +And all for distant Dulcinea +Del Toboso. + +Adventure-seeking doth he go +Up rugged heights, down rocky valleys, +But hill or dale, or high or low, +Mishap attendeth all his sallies: +Love still pursues him to and fro, +And plies his cruel scourge—ah me! a +Relentless fate, an endless woe; +Don Quixote’s tears are on the flow, +And all for distant Dulcinea +Del Toboso. +</pre> +</blockquote> +<p> +The addition of “Del Toboso” to Dulcinea’s name gave rise to no little +laughter among those who found the above lines, for they suspected Don +Quixote must have fancied that unless he added “del Toboso” when he +introduced the name of Dulcinea the verse would be unintelligible; which +was indeed the fact, as he himself afterwards admitted. He wrote many +more, but, as has been said, these three verses were all that could be +plainly and perfectly deciphered. In this way, and in sighing and calling +on the fauns and satyrs of the woods and the nymphs of the streams, and +Echo, moist and mournful, to answer, console, and hear him, as well as in +looking for herbs to sustain him, he passed his time until Sancho’s +return; and had that been delayed three weeks, as it was three days, the +Knight of the Rueful Countenance would have worn such an altered +countenance that the mother that bore him would not have known him: and +here it will be well to leave him, wrapped up in sighs and verses, to +relate how Sancho Panza fared on his mission. +</p> +<p> +As for him, coming out upon the high road, he made for El Toboso, and the +next day reached the inn where the mishap of the blanket had befallen him. +As soon as he recognised it he felt as if he were once more living through +the air, and he could not bring himself to enter it though it was an hour +when he might well have done so, for it was dinner-time, and he longed to +taste something hot as it had been all cold fare with him for many days +past. This craving drove him to draw near to the inn, still undecided +whether to go in or not, and as he was hesitating there came out two +persons who at once recognised him, and said one to the other: +</p> +<p> +“Señor licentiate, is not he on the horse there Sancho Panza who, our +adventurer’s housekeeper told us, went off with her master as esquire?” +</p> +<p> +“So it is,” said the licentiate, “and that is our friend Don Quixote’s +horse;” and if they knew him so well it was because they were the curate +and the barber of his own village, the same who had carried out the +scrutiny and sentence upon the books; and as soon as they recognised +Sancho Panza and Rocinante, being anxious to hear of Don Quixote, they +approached, and calling him by his name the curate said, “Friend Sancho +Panza, where is your master?” +</p> +<p> +Sancho recognised them at once, and determined to keep secret the place +and circumstances where and under which he had left his master, so he +replied that his master was engaged in a certain quarter on a certain +matter of great importance to him which he could not disclose for the eyes +in his head. +</p> +<p> +“Nay, nay,” said the barber, “if you don’t tell us where he is, Sancho +Panza, we will suspect as we suspect already, that you have murdered and +robbed him, for here you are mounted on his horse; in fact, you must +produce the master of the hack, or else take the consequences.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no need of threats with me,” said Sancho, “for I am not a man to +rob or murder anybody; let his own fate, or God who made him, kill each +one; my master is engaged very much to his taste doing penance in the +midst of these mountains;” and then, offhand and without stopping, he told +them how he had left him, what adventures had befallen him, and how he was +carrying a letter to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, the daughter of Lorenzo +Corchuelo, with whom he was over head and ears in love. They were both +amazed at what Sancho Panza told them; for though they were aware of Don +Quixote’s madness and the nature of it, each time they heard of it they +were filled with fresh wonder. They then asked Sancho Panza to show them +the letter he was carrying to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. He said it was +written in a note-book, and that his master’s directions were that he +should have it copied on paper at the first village he came to. On this +the curate said if he showed it to him, he himself would make a fair copy +of it. Sancho put his hand into his bosom in search of the note-book but +could not find it, nor, if he had been searching until now, could he have +found it, for Don Quixote had kept it, and had never given it to him, nor +had he himself thought of asking for it. When Sancho discovered he could +not find the book his face grew deadly pale, and in great haste he again +felt his body all over, and seeing plainly it was not to be found, without +more ado he seized his beard with both hands and plucked away half of it, +and then, as quick as he could and without stopping, gave himself half a +dozen cuffs on the face and nose till they were bathed in blood. +</p> +<p> +Seeing this, the curate and the barber asked him what had happened him +that he gave himself such rough treatment. +</p> +<p> +“What should happen to me?” replied Sancho, “but to have lost from one hand +to the other, in a moment, three ass-colts, each of them like a castle?” +</p> +<p> +“How is that?” said the barber. +</p> +<p> +“I have lost the note-book,” said Sancho, “that contained the letter to +Dulcinea, and an order signed by my master in which he directed his niece +to give me three ass-colts out of four or five he had at home;” and he +then told them about the loss of Dapple. +</p> +<p> +The curate consoled him, telling him that when his master was found he +would get him to renew the order, and make a fresh draft on paper, as was +usual and customary; for those made in notebooks were never accepted or +honoured. +</p> +<p> +Sancho comforted himself with this, and said if that were so the loss of +Dulcinea’s letter did not trouble him much, for he had it almost by heart, +and it could be taken down from him wherever and whenever they liked. +</p> +<p> +“Repeat it then, Sancho,” said the barber, “and we will write it down +afterwards.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho Panza stopped to scratch his head to bring back the letter to his +memory, and balanced himself now on one foot, now the other, one moment +staring at the ground, the next at the sky, and after having half gnawed +off the end of a finger and kept them in suspense waiting for him to +begin, he said, after a long pause, “By God, señor licentiate, devil a +thing can I recollect of the letter; but it said at the beginning, +‘Exalted and scrubbing Lady.’” +</p> +<p> +“It cannot have said ‘scrubbing,’” said the barber, “but ‘superhuman’ or +‘sovereign.’” +</p> +<p> +“That is it,” said Sancho; “then, as well as I remember, it went on, ‘The +wounded, and wanting of sleep, and the pierced, kisses your worship’s +hands, ungrateful and very unrecognised fair one; and it said something or +other about health and sickness that he was sending her; and from that it +went tailing off until it ended with ‘Yours till death, the Knight of the +Rueful Countenance.” +</p> +<p> +It gave them no little amusement, both of them, to see what a good memory +Sancho had, and they complimented him greatly upon it, and begged him to +repeat the letter a couple of times more, so that they too might get it by +heart to write it out by-and-by. Sancho repeated it three times, and as he +did, uttered three thousand more absurdities; then he told them more about +his master but he never said a word about the blanketing that had befallen +himself in that inn, into which he refused to enter. He told them, +moreover, how his lord, if he brought him a favourable answer from the +lady Dulcinea del Toboso, was to put himself in the way of endeavouring to +become an emperor, or at least a monarch; for it had been so settled +between them, and with his personal worth and the might of his arm it was +an easy matter to come to be one: and how on becoming one his lord was to +make a marriage for him (for he would be a widower by that time, as a +matter of course) and was to give him as a wife one of the damsels of the +empress, the heiress of some rich and grand state on the mainland, having +nothing to do with islands of any sort, for he did not care for them now. +All this Sancho delivered with so much composure—wiping his nose +from time to time—and with so little common-sense that his two +hearers were again filled with wonder at the force of Don Quixote’s +madness that could run away with this poor man’s reason. They did not care +to take the trouble of disabusing him of his error, as they considered +that since it did not in any way hurt his conscience it would be better to +leave him in it, and they would have all the more amusement in listening +to his simplicities; and so they bade him pray to God for his lord’s +health, as it was a very likely and a very feasible thing for him in +course of time to come to be an emperor, as he said, or at least an +archbishop or some other dignitary of equal rank. +</p> +<p> +To which Sancho made answer, “If fortune, sirs, should bring things about +in such a way that my master should have a mind, instead of being an +emperor, to be an archbishop, I should like to know what +archbishops-errant commonly give their squires?” +</p> +<p> +“They commonly give them,” said the curate, some simple benefice or cure, +or some place as sacristan which brings them a good fixed income, not +counting the altar fees, which may be reckoned at as much more.” +</p> +<p> +“But for that,” said Sancho, “the squire must be unmarried, and must know, +at any rate, how to help at mass, and if that be so, woe is me, for I am +married already and I don’t know the first letter of the A B C. What will +become of me if my master takes a fancy to be an archbishop and not an +emperor, as is usual and customary with knights-errant?” +</p> +<p> +“Be not uneasy, friend Sancho,” said the barber, “for we will entreat your +master, and advise him, even urging it upon him as a case of conscience, +to become an emperor and not an archbishop, because it will be easier for +him as he is more valiant than lettered.” +</p> +<p> +“So I have thought,” said Sancho; “though I can tell you he is fit for +anything: what I mean to do for my part is to pray to our Lord to place +him where it may be best for him, and where he may be able to bestow most +favours upon me.” +</p> +<p> +“You speak like a man of sense,” said the curate, “and you will be acting +like a good Christian; but what must now be done is to take steps to coax +your master out of that useless penance you say he is performing; and we +had best turn into this inn to consider what plan to adopt, and also to +dine, for it is now time.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho said they might go in, but that he would wait there outside, and +that he would tell them afterwards the reason why he was unwilling, and +why it did not suit him to enter it; but he begged them to bring him out +something to eat, and to let it be hot, and also to bring barley for +Rocinante. They left him and went in, and presently the barber brought him +out something to eat. By-and-by, after they had between them carefully +thought over what they should do to carry out their object, the curate hit +upon an idea very well adapted to humour Don Quixote, and effect their +purpose; and his notion, which he explained to the barber, was that he +himself should assume the disguise of a wandering damsel, while the other +should try as best he could to pass for a squire, and that they should +thus proceed to where Don Quixote was, and he, pretending to be an +aggrieved and distressed damsel, should ask a favour of him, which as a +valiant knight-errant he could not refuse to grant; and the favour he +meant to ask him was that he should accompany her whither she would +conduct him, in order to redress a wrong which a wicked knight had done +her, while at the same time she should entreat him not to require her to +remove her mask, nor ask her any question touching her circumstances until +he had righted her with the wicked knight. And he had no doubt that Don +Quixote would comply with any request made in these terms, and that in +this way they might remove him and take him to his own village, where they +would endeavour to find out if his extraordinary madness admitted of any +kind of remedy. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c26e" id="c26e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c26e.jpg (48K)" src="images/c26e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch27" id="ch27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF HOW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER PROCEEDED WITH THEIR SCHEME; TOGETHER +WITH OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF RECORD IN THIS GREAT HISTORY +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c27a" id="c27a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c27a.jpg (169K)" src="images/c27a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c27a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +The curate’s plan did not seem a bad one to the barber, but on the +contrary so good that they immediately set about putting it in execution. +They begged a petticoat and hood of the landlady, leaving her in pledge a +new cassock of the curate’s; and the barber made a beard out of a +grey-brown or red ox-tail in which the landlord used to stick his comb. +The landlady asked them what they wanted these things for, and the curate +told her in a few words about the madness of Don Quixote, and how this +disguise was intended to get him away from the mountain where he then was. +The landlord and landlady immediately came to the conclusion that the +madman was their guest, the balsam man and master of the blanketed squire, +and they told the curate all that had passed between him and them, not +omitting what Sancho had been so silent about. Finally the landlady +dressed up the curate in a style that left nothing to be desired; she put +on him a cloth petticoat with black velvet stripes a palm broad, all +slashed, and a bodice of green velvet set off by a binding of white satin, +which as well as the petticoat must have been made in the time of king +Wamba. The curate would not let them hood him, but put on his head a +little quilted linen cap which he used for a night-cap, and bound his +forehead with a strip of black silk, while with another he made a mask +with which he concealed his beard and face very well. He then put on his +hat, which was broad enough to serve him for an umbrella, and enveloping +himself in his cloak seated himself woman-fashion on his mule, while the +barber mounted his with a beard down to the waist of mingled red and +white, for it was, as has been said, the tail of a clay-red ox. +</p> +<p> +They took leave of all, and of the good Maritornes, who, sinner as she +was, promised to pray a rosary of prayers that God might grant them +success in such an arduous and Christian undertaking as that they had in +hand. But hardly had he sallied forth from the inn when it struck the +curate that he was doing wrong in rigging himself out in that fashion, as +it was an indecorous thing for a priest to dress himself that way even +though much might depend upon it; and saying so to the barber he begged +him to change dresses, as it was fitter he should be the distressed +damsel, while he himself would play the squire’s part, which would be less +derogatory to his dignity; otherwise he was resolved to have nothing more +to do with the matter, and let the devil take Don Quixote. Just at this +moment Sancho came up, and on seeing the pair in such a costume he was +unable to restrain his laughter; the barber, however, agreed to do as the +curate wished, and, altering their plan, the curate went on to instruct +him how to play his part and what to say to Don Quixote to induce and +compel him to come with them and give up his fancy for the place he had +chosen for his idle penance. The barber told him he could manage it +properly without any instruction, and as he did not care to dress himself +up until they were near where Don Quixote was, he folded up the garments, +and the curate adjusted his beard, and they set out under the guidance of +Sancho Panza, who went along telling them of the encounter with the madman +they met in the Sierra, saying nothing, however, about the finding of the +valise and its contents; for with all his simplicity the lad was a trifle +covetous. +</p> +<p> +The next day they reached the place where Sancho had laid the +broom-branches as marks to direct him to where he had left his master, and +recognising it he told them that here was the entrance, and that they +would do well to dress themselves, if that was required to deliver his +master; for they had already told him that going in this guise and +dressing in this way were of the highest importance in order to rescue his +master from the pernicious life he had adopted; and they charged him +strictly not to tell his master who they were, or that he knew them, and +should he ask, as ask he would, if he had given the letter to Dulcinea, to +say that he had, and that, as she did not know how to read, she had given +an answer by word of mouth, saying that she commanded him, on pain of her +displeasure, to come and see her at once; and it was a very important +matter for himself, because in this way and with what they meant to say to +him they felt sure of bringing him back to a better mode of life and +inducing him to take immediate steps to become an emperor or monarch, for +there was no fear of his becoming an archbishop. All this Sancho listened +to and fixed it well in his memory, and thanked them heartily for +intending to recommend his master to be an emperor instead of an +archbishop, for he felt sure that in the way of bestowing rewards on their +squires emperors could do more than archbishops-errant. He said, too, that +it would be as well for him to go on before them to find him, and give him +his lady’s answer; for that perhaps might be enough to bring him away from +the place without putting them to all this trouble. They approved of what +Sancho proposed, and resolved to wait for him until he brought back word +of having found his master. +</p> +<p> +Sancho pushed on into the glens of the Sierra, leaving them in one through +which there flowed a little gentle rivulet, and where the rocks and trees +afforded a cool and grateful shade. It was an August day with all the heat +of one, and the heat in those parts is intense, and the hour was three in +the afternoon, all which made the spot the more inviting and tempted them +to wait there for Sancho’s return, which they did. They were reposing, +then, in the shade, when a voice unaccompanied by the notes of any +instrument, but sweet and pleasing in its tone, reached their ears, at +which they were not a little astonished, as the place did not seem to them +likely quarters for one who sang so well; for though it is often said that +shepherds of rare voice are to be found in the woods and fields, this is +rather a flight of the poet’s fancy than the truth. And still more +surprised were they when they perceived that what they heard sung were the +verses not of rustic shepherds, but of the polished wits of the city; and +so it proved, for the verses they heard were these: +</p> +<blockquote> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What makes my quest of happiness seem vain? +Disdain. +What bids me to abandon hope of ease? +Jealousies. +What holds my heart in anguish of suspense? +Absence. +If that be so, then for my grief +Where shall I turn to seek relief, +When hope on every side lies slain +By Absence, Jealousies, Disdain? + +What the prime cause of all my woe doth prove? +Love. +What at my glory ever looks askance? +Chance. +Whence is permission to afflict me given? +Heaven. +If that be so, I but await +The stroke of a resistless fate, +Since, working for my woe, these three, +Love, Chance and Heaven, in league I see. + +What must I do to find a remedy? +Die. +What is the lure for love when coy and strange? +Change. +What, if all fail, will cure the heart of sadness? +Madness. +If that be so, it is but folly +To seek a cure for melancholy: +Ask where it lies; the answer saith +In Change, in Madness, or in Death. +</pre> +</blockquote> +<p> +The hour, the summer season, the solitary place, the voice and skill of +the singer, all contributed to the wonder and delight of the two +listeners, who remained still waiting to hear something more; finding, +however, that the silence continued some little time, they resolved to go +in search of the musician who sang with so fine a voice; but just as they +were about to do so they were checked by the same voice, which once more +fell upon their ears, singing this +</p> +<blockquote> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SONNET + +When heavenward, holy Friendship, thou didst go +Soaring to seek thy home beyond the sky, +And take thy seat among the saints on high, +It was thy will to leave on earth below +Thy semblance, and upon it to bestow +Thy veil, wherewith at times hypocrisy, +Parading in thy shape, deceives the eye, +And makes its vileness bright as virtue show. +Friendship, return to us, or force the cheat +That wears it now, thy livery to restore, +By aid whereof sincerity is slain. +If thou wilt not unmask thy counterfeit, +This earth will be the prey of strife once more, +As when primaeval discord held its reign. + +</pre> +</blockquote> +<p> +The song ended with a deep sigh, and again the listeners remained waiting +attentively for the singer to resume; but perceiving that the music had +now turned to sobs and heart-rending moans they determined to find out who +the unhappy being could be whose voice was as rare as his sighs were +piteous, and they had not proceeded far when on turning the corner of a +rock they discovered a man of the same aspect and appearance as Sancho had +described to them when he told them the story of Cardenio. He, showing no +astonishment when he saw them, stood still with his head bent down upon +his breast like one in deep thought, without raising his eyes to look at +them after the first glance when they suddenly came upon him. The curate, +who was aware of his misfortune and recognised him by the description, +being a man of good address, approached him and in a few sensible words +entreated and urged him to quit a life of such misery, lest he should end +it there, which would be the greatest of all misfortunes. Cardenio was +then in his right mind, free from any attack of that madness which so +frequently carried him away, and seeing them dressed in a fashion so +unusual among the frequenters of those wilds, could not help showing some +surprise, especially when he heard them speak of his case as if it were a +well-known matter (for the curate’s words gave him to understand as much) +so he replied to them thus: +</p> +<p> +“I see plainly, sirs, whoever you may be, that Heaven, whose care it is +to succour the good, and even the wicked very often, here, in this remote spot, +cut off from human intercourse, sends me, though I deserve it not, those who +seek to draw me away from this to some better retreat, showing me by many and +forcible arguments how unreasonably I act in leading the life I do; but as they +know, that if I escape from this evil I shall fall into another still greater, +perhaps they will set me down as a weak-minded man, or, what is worse, one +devoid of reason; nor would it be any wonder, for I myself can perceive that +the effect of the recollection of my misfortunes is so great and works so +powerfully to my ruin, that in spite of myself I become at times like a stone, +without feeling or consciousness; and I come to feel the truth of it when they +tell me and show me proofs of the things I have done when the terrible fit +overmasters me; and all I can do is bewail my lot in vain, and idly curse my +destiny, and plead for my madness by telling how it was caused, to any that +care to hear it; for no reasonable beings on learning the cause will wonder at +the effects; and if they cannot help me at least they will not blame me, and +the repugnance they feel at my wild ways will turn into pity for my woes. If it +be, sirs, that you are here with the same design as others have come with, +before you proceed with your wise arguments, I entreat you to hear the story of +my countless misfortunes, for perhaps when you have heard it you will spare +yourselves the trouble you would take in offering consolation to grief that is +beyond the reach of it.” +</p> +<p> +As they, both of them, desired nothing more than to hear from his own lips +the cause of his suffering, they entreated him to tell it, promising not +to do anything for his relief or comfort that he did not wish; and +thereupon the unhappy gentleman began his sad story in nearly the same +words and manner in which he had related it to Don Quixote and the +goatherd a few days before, when, through Master Elisabad, and Don +Quixote’s scrupulous observance of what was due to chivalry, the tale was +left unfinished, as this history has already recorded; but now fortunately +the mad fit kept off, allowed him to tell it to the end; and so, coming to +the incident of the note which Don Fernando had found in the volume of +“Amadis of Gaul,” Cardenio said that he remembered it perfectly and that +it was in these words: +</p> +<blockquote> +<p> +“Luscinda to Cardenio. +</p> +<p> +“Every day I discover merits in you that oblige and compel me to hold +you in higher estimation; so if you desire to relieve me of this +obligation without cost to my honour, you may easily do so. I have a +father who knows you and loves me dearly, who without putting any +constraint on my inclination will grant what will be reasonable for you +to have, if it be that you value me as you say and as I believe you do.” +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +“By this letter I was induced, as I told you, to demand Luscinda for my +wife, and it was through it that Luscinda came to be regarded by Don +Fernando as one of the most discreet and prudent women of the day, and +this letter it was that suggested his design of ruining me before mine +could be carried into effect. I told Don Fernando that all Luscinda’s +father was waiting for was that mine should ask her of him, which I did +not dare to suggest to him, fearing that he would not consent to do so; +not because he did not know perfectly well the rank, goodness, virtue, and +beauty of Luscinda, and that she had qualities that would do honour to any +family in Spain, but because I was aware that he did not wish me to marry +so soon, before seeing what the Duke Ricardo would do for me. In short, I +told him I did not venture to mention it to my father, as well on account +of that difficulty, as of many others that discouraged me though I knew +not well what they were, only that it seemed to me that what I desired was +never to come to pass. To all this Don Fernando answered that he would +take it upon himself to speak to my father, and persuade him to speak to +Luscinda’s father. O, ambitious Marius! O, cruel Catiline! O, wicked +Sylla! O, perfidious Ganelon! O, treacherous Vellido! O, vindictive +Julian! O, covetous Judas! Traitor, cruel, vindictive, and perfidious, +wherein had this poor wretch failed in his fidelity, who with such +frankness showed thee the secrets and the joys of his heart? What offence +did I commit? What words did I utter, or what counsels did I give that had +not the furtherance of thy honour and welfare for their aim? But, woe is +me, wherefore do I complain? for sure it is that when misfortunes spring +from the stars, descending from on high they fall upon us with such fury +and violence that no power on earth can check their course nor human +device stay their coming. Who could have thought that Don Fernando, a +highborn gentleman, intelligent, bound to me by gratitude for my services, +one that could win the object of his love wherever he might set his +affections, could have become so obdurate, as they say, as to rob me of my +one ewe lamb that was not even yet in my possession? But laying aside +these useless and unavailing reflections, let us take up the broken thread +of my unhappy story. +</p> +<p> +“To proceed, then: Don Fernando finding my presence an obstacle to the +execution of his treacherous and wicked design, resolved to send me to his +elder brother under the pretext of asking money from him to pay for six +horses which, purposely, and with the sole object of sending me away that +he might the better carry out his infernal scheme, he had purchased the +very day he offered to speak to my father, and the price of which he now +desired me to fetch. Could I have anticipated this treachery? Could I by +any chance have suspected it? Nay; so far from that, I offered with the +greatest pleasure to go at once, in my satisfaction at the good bargain +that had been made. That night I spoke with Luscinda, and told her what +had been agreed upon with Don Fernando, and how I had strong hopes of our +fair and reasonable wishes being realised. She, as unsuspicious as I was +of the treachery of Don Fernando, bade me try to return speedily, as she +believed the fulfilment of our desires would be delayed only so long as my +father put off speaking to hers. I know not why it was that on saying this +to me her eyes filled with tears, and there came a lump in her throat that +prevented her from uttering a word of many more that it seemed to me she +was striving to say to me. I was astonished at this unusual turn, which I +never before observed in her, for we always conversed, whenever good +fortune and my ingenuity gave us the chance, with the greatest gaiety and +cheerfulness, mingling tears, sighs, jealousies, doubts, or fears with our +words; it was all on my part a eulogy of my good fortune that Heaven +should have given her to me for my mistress; I glorified her beauty, I +extolled her worth and her understanding; and she paid me back by praising +in me what in her love for me she thought worthy of praise; and besides we +had a hundred thousand trifles and doings of our neighbours and +acquaintances to talk about, and the utmost extent of my boldness was to +take, almost by force, one of her fair white hands and carry it to my +lips, as well as the closeness of the low grating that separated us +allowed me. But the night before the unhappy day of my departure she wept, +she moaned, she sighed, and she withdrew leaving me filled with perplexity +and amazement, overwhelmed at the sight of such strange and affecting +signs of grief and sorrow in Luscinda; but not to dash my hopes I ascribed +it all to the depth of her love for me and the pain that separation gives +those who love tenderly. At last I took my departure, sad and dejected, my +heart filled with fancies and suspicions, but not knowing well what it was +I suspected or fancied; plain omens pointing to the sad event and +misfortune that was awaiting me. +</p> +<p> +“I reached the place whither I had been sent, gave the letter to Don +Fernando’s brother, and was kindly received but not promptly dismissed, +for he desired me to wait, very much against my will, eight days in some +place where the duke his father was not likely to see me, as his brother +wrote that the money was to be sent without his knowledge; all of which +was a scheme of the treacherous Don Fernando, for his brother had no want +of money to enable him to despatch me at once. +</p> +<p> +“The command was one that exposed me to the temptation of disobeying it, +as it seemed to me impossible to endure life for so many days separated +from Luscinda, especially after leaving her in the sorrowful mood I have +described to you; nevertheless as a dutiful servant I obeyed, though I +felt it would be at the cost of my well-being. But four days later there +came a man in quest of me with a letter which he gave me, and which by the +address I perceived to be from Luscinda, as the writing was hers. I opened +it with fear and trepidation, persuaded that it must be something serious +that had impelled her to write to me when at a distance, as she seldom did +so when I was near. Before reading it I asked the man who it was that had +given it to him, and how long he had been upon the road; he told me that +as he happened to be passing through one of the streets of the city at the +hour of noon, a very beautiful lady called to him from a window, and with +tears in her eyes said to him hurriedly, ‘Brother, if you are, as you seem +to be, a Christian, for the love of God I entreat you to have this letter +despatched without a moment’s delay to the place and person named in the +address, all which is well known, and by this you will render a great +service to our Lord; and that you may be at no inconvenience in doing so +take what is in this handkerchief;’ and said he, ‘with this she threw me a +handkerchief out of the window in which were tied up a hundred reals and +this gold ring which I bring here together with the letter I have given +you. And then without waiting for any answer she left the window, though +not before she saw me take the letter and the handkerchief, and I had by +signs let her know that I would do as she bade me; and so, seeing myself +so well paid for the trouble I would have in bringing it to you, and +knowing by the address that it was to you it was sent (for, señor, I know +you very well), and also unable to resist that beautiful lady’s tears, I +resolved to trust no one else, but to come myself and give it to you, and +in sixteen hours from the time when it was given me I have made the +journey, which, as you know, is eighteen leagues.’ +</p> +<p> +“All the while the good-natured improvised courier was telling me this, I +hung upon his words, my legs trembling under me so that I could scarcely +stand. However, I opened the letter and read these words: +</p> +<p> +“‘The promise Don Fernando gave you to urge your father to speak to mine, +he has fulfilled much more to his own satisfaction than to your advantage. +I have to tell you, señor, that he has demanded me for a wife, and my +father, led away by what he considers Don Fernando’s superiority over you, +has favoured his suit so cordially, that in two days hence the betrothal +is to take place with such secrecy and so privately that the only +witnesses are to be the Heavens above and a few of the household. Picture +to yourself the state I am in; judge if it be urgent for you to come; the +issue of the affair will show you whether I love you or not. God grant +this may come to your hand before mine shall be forced to link itself with +his who keeps so ill the faith that he has pledged.’ +</p> +<p> +“Such, in brief, were the words of the letter, words that made me set out +at once without waiting any longer for reply or money; for I now saw +clearly that it was not the purchase of horses but of his own pleasure +that had made Don Fernando send me to his brother. The exasperation I felt +against Don Fernando, joined with the fear of losing the prize I had won +by so many years of love and devotion, lent me wings; so that almost +flying I reached home the same day, by the hour which served for speaking +with Luscinda. I arrived unobserved, and left the mule on which I had come +at the house of the worthy man who had brought me the letter, and fortune +was pleased to be for once so kind that I found Luscinda at the grating +that was the witness of our loves. She recognised me at once, and I her, +but not as she ought to have recognised me, or I her. But who is there in +the world that can boast of having fathomed or understood the wavering +mind and unstable nature of a woman? Of a truth no one. To proceed: as +soon as Luscinda saw me she said, ‘Cardenio, I am in my bridal dress, and +the treacherous Don Fernando and my covetous father are waiting for me in +the hall with the other witnesses, who shall be the witnesses of my death +before they witness my betrothal. Be not distressed, my friend, but +contrive to be present at this sacrifice, and if that cannot be prevented +by my words, I have a dagger concealed which will prevent more deliberate +violence, putting an end to my life and giving thee a first proof of the +love I have borne and bear thee.’ I replied to her distractedly and +hastily, in fear lest I should not have time to reply, ‘May thy words be +verified by thy deeds, lady; and if thou hast a dagger to save thy honour, +I have a sword to defend thee or kill myself if fortune be against us.’ +</p> +<p> +“I think she could not have heard all these words, for I perceived that +they called her away in haste, as the bridegroom was waiting. Now the +night of my sorrow set in, the sun of my happiness went down, I felt my +eyes bereft of sight, my mind of reason. I could not enter the house, nor +was I capable of any movement; but reflecting how important it was that I +should be present at what might take place on the occasion, I nerved +myself as best I could and went in, for I well knew all the entrances and +outlets; and besides, with the confusion that in secret pervaded the house +no one took notice of me, so, without being seen, I found an opportunity +of placing myself in the recess formed by a window of the hall itself, and +concealed by the ends and borders of two tapestries, from between which I +could, without being seen, see all that took place in the room. Who could +describe the agitation of heart I suffered as I stood there—the +thoughts that came to me—the reflections that passed through my +mind? They were such as cannot be, nor were it well they should be, told. +Suffice it to say that the bridegroom entered the hall in his usual dress, +without ornament of any kind; as groomsman he had with him a cousin of +Luscinda’s and except the servants of the house there was no one else in +the chamber. Soon afterwards Luscinda came out from an antechamber, +attended by her mother and two of her damsels, arrayed and adorned as +became her rank and beauty, and in full festival and ceremonial attire. My +anxiety and distraction did not allow me to observe or notice particularly +what she wore; I could only perceive the colours, which were crimson and +white, and the glitter of the gems and jewels on her head dress and +apparel, surpassed by the rare beauty of her lovely auburn hair that vying +with the precious stones and the light of the four torches that stood in +the hall shone with a brighter gleam than all. Oh memory, mortal foe of my +peace! why bring before me now the incomparable beauty of that adored +enemy of mine? Were it not better, cruel memory, to remind me and recall +what she then did, that stirred by a wrong so glaring I may seek, if not +vengeance now, at least to rid myself of life? Be not weary, sirs, of +listening to these digressions; my sorrow is not one of those that can or +should be told tersely and briefly, for to me each incident seems to call +for many words.” +</p> +<p> +To this the curate replied that not only were they not weary of listening +to him, but that the details he mentioned interested them greatly, being +of a kind by no means to be omitted and deserving of the same attention as +the main story. +</p> +<p> +“To proceed, then,” continued Cardenio: “all being assembled in the hall, +the priest of the parish came in and as he took the pair by the hand to +perform the requisite ceremony, at the words, ‘Will you, Señora Luscinda, +take Señor Don Fernando, here present, for your lawful husband, as the +holy Mother Church ordains?’ I thrust my head and neck out from between +the tapestries, and with eager ears and throbbing heart set myself to +listen to Luscinda’s answer, awaiting in her reply the sentence of death +or the grant of life. Oh, that I had but dared at that moment to rush +forward crying aloud, ‘Luscinda, Luscinda! have a care what thou dost; +remember what thou owest me; bethink thee thou art mine and canst not be +another’s; reflect that thy utterance of “Yes” and the end of my life will +come at the same instant. O, treacherous Don Fernando! robber of my glory, +death of my life! What seekest thou? Remember that thou canst not as a +Christian attain the object of thy wishes, for Luscinda is my bride, and I +am her husband!’ Fool that I am! now that I am far away, and out of +danger, I say I should have done what I did not do: now that I have +allowed my precious treasure to be robbed from me, I curse the robber, on +whom I might have taken vengeance had I as much heart for it as I have for +bewailing my fate; in short, as I was then a coward and a fool, little +wonder is it if I am now dying shame-stricken, remorseful, and mad. +</p> +<p> +“The priest stood waiting for the answer of Luscinda, who for a long time +withheld it; and just as I thought she was taking out the dagger to save +her honour, or struggling for words to make some declaration of the truth +on my behalf, I heard her say in a faint and feeble voice, ‘I will:’ Don +Fernando said the same, and giving her the ring they stood linked by a +knot that could never be loosed. The bridegroom then approached to embrace +his bride; and she, pressing her hand upon her heart, fell fainting in her +mother’s arms. It only remains now for me to tell you the state I was in +when in that consent that I heard I saw all my hopes mocked, the words and +promises of Luscinda proved falsehoods, and the recovery of the prize I +had that instant lost rendered impossible for ever. I stood stupefied, +wholly abandoned, it seemed, by Heaven, declared the enemy of the earth +that bore me, the air refusing me breath for my sighs, the water moisture +for my tears; it was only the fire that gathered strength so that my whole +frame glowed with rage and jealousy. They were all thrown into confusion +by Luscinda’s fainting, and as her mother was unlacing her to give her air +a sealed paper was discovered in her bosom which Don Fernando seized at +once and began to read by the light of one of the torches. As soon as he +had read it he seated himself in a chair, leaning his cheek on his hand in +the attitude of one deep in thought, without taking any part in the +efforts that were being made to recover his bride from her fainting fit. +</p> +<p> +“Seeing all the household in confusion, I ventured to come out regardless +whether I were seen or not, and determined, if I were, to do some frenzied +deed that would prove to all the world the righteous indignation of my +breast in the punishment of the treacherous Don Fernando, and even in that +of the fickle fainting traitress. But my fate, doubtless reserving me for +greater sorrows, if such there be, so ordered it that just then I had +enough and to spare of that reason which has since been wanting to me; and +so, without seeking to take vengeance on my greatest enemies (which might +have been easily taken, as all thought of me was so far from their minds), +I resolved to take it upon myself, and on myself to inflict the pain they +deserved, perhaps with even greater severity than I should have dealt out +to them had I then slain them; for sudden pain is soon over, but that +which is protracted by tortures is ever slaying without ending life. In a +word, I quitted the house and reached that of the man with whom I had left +my mule; I made him saddle it for me, mounted without bidding him +farewell, and rode out of the city, like another Lot, not daring to turn +my head to look back upon it; and when I found myself alone in the open +country, screened by the darkness of the night, and tempted by the +stillness to give vent to my grief without apprehension or fear of being +heard or seen, then I broke silence and lifted up my voice in maledictions +upon Luscinda and Don Fernando, as if I could thus avenge the wrong they +had done me. I called her cruel, ungrateful, false, thankless, but above +all covetous, since the wealth of my enemy had blinded the eyes of her +affection, and turned it from me to transfer it to one to whom fortune had +been more generous and liberal. And yet, in the midst of this outburst of +execration and upbraiding, I found excuses for her, saying it was no +wonder that a young girl in the seclusion of her parents’ house, trained +and schooled to obey them always, should have been ready to yield to their +wishes when they offered her for a husband a gentleman of such +distinction, wealth, and noble birth, that if she had refused to accept +him she would have been thought out of her senses, or to have set her +affection elsewhere, a suspicion injurious to her fair name and fame. But +then again, I said, had she declared I was her husband, they would have +seen that in choosing me she had not chosen so ill but that they might +excuse her, for before Don Fernando had made his offer, they themselves +could not have desired, if their desires had been ruled by reason, a more +eligible husband for their daughter than I was; and she, before taking the +last fatal step of giving her hand, might easily have said that I had +already given her mine, for I should have come forward to support any +assertion of hers to that effect. In short, I came to the conclusion that +feeble love, little reflection, great ambition, and a craving for rank, +had made her forget the words with which she had deceived me, encouraged +and supported by my firm hopes and honourable passion. +</p> +<p> +“Thus soliloquising and agitated, I journeyed onward for the remainder of +the night, and by daybreak I reached one of the passes of these mountains, +among which I wandered for three days more without taking any path or +road, until I came to some meadows lying on I know not which side of the +mountains, and there I inquired of some herdsmen in what direction the +most rugged part of the range lay. They told me that it was in this +quarter, and I at once directed my course hither, intending to end my life +here; but as I was making my way among these crags, my mule dropped dead +through fatigue and hunger, or, as I think more likely, in order to have +done with such a worthless burden as it bore in me. I was left on foot, +worn out, famishing, without anyone to help me or any thought of seeking +help: and so thus I lay stretched on the ground, how long I know not, +after which I rose up free from hunger, and found beside me some +goatherds, who no doubt were the persons who had relieved me in my need, +for they told me how they had found me, and how I had been uttering +ravings that showed plainly I had lost my reason; and since then I am +conscious that I am not always in full possession of it, but at times so +deranged and crazed that I do a thousand mad things, tearing my clothes, +crying aloud in these solitudes, cursing my fate, and idly calling on the +dear name of her who is my enemy, and only seeking to end my life in +lamentation; and when I recover my senses I find myself so exhausted and +weary that I can scarcely move. Most commonly my dwelling is the hollow of +a cork tree large enough to shelter this miserable body; the herdsmen and +goatherds who frequent these mountains, moved by compassion, furnish me +with food, leaving it by the wayside or on the rocks, where they think I +may perhaps pass and find it; and so, even though I may be then out of my +senses, the wants of nature teach me what is required to sustain me, and +make me crave it and eager to take it. At other times, so they tell me +when they find me in a rational mood, I sally out upon the road, and +though they would gladly give it me, I snatch food by force from the +shepherds bringing it from the village to their huts. Thus do pass the +wretched life that remains to me, until it be Heaven’s will to bring it to +a close, or so to order my memory that I no longer recollect the beauty +and treachery of Luscinda, or the wrong done me by Don Fernando; for if it +will do this without depriving me of life, I will turn my thoughts into +some better channel; if not, I can only implore it to have full mercy on +my soul, for in myself I feel no power or strength to release my body from +this strait in which I have of my own accord chosen to place it. +</p> +<p> +“Such, sirs, is the dismal story of my misfortune: say if it be one that +can be told with less emotion than you have seen in me; and do not trouble +yourselves with urging or pressing upon me what reason suggests as likely +to serve for my relief, for it will avail me as much as the medicine +prescribed by a wise physician avails the sick man who will not take it. I +have no wish for health without Luscinda; and since it is her pleasure to +be another’s, when she is or should be mine, let it be mine to be a prey +to misery when I might have enjoyed happiness. She by her fickleness +strove to make my ruin irretrievable; I will strive to gratify her wishes +by seeking destruction; and it will show generations to come that I alone +was deprived of that of which all others in misfortune have a +superabundance, for to them the impossibility of being consoled is itself +a consolation, while to me it is the cause of greater sorrows and +sufferings, for I think that even in death there will not be an end of +them.” +</p> +<p> +Here Cardenio brought to a close his long discourse and story, as full of +misfortune as it was of love; but just as the curate was going to address +some words of comfort to him, he was stopped by a voice that reached his +ear, saying in melancholy tones what will be told in the Fourth Part of +this narrative; for at this point the sage and sagacious historian, Cid +Hamete Benengeli, brought the Third to a conclusion. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c27e" id="c27e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c27e.jpg (65K)" src="images/c27e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch28" id="ch28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE +CURATE AND THE BARBER IN THE SAME SIERRA +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c28a" id="c28a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c28a.jpg (159K)" src="images/c28a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c28a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Happy and fortunate were the times when that most daring knight Don +Quixote of La Mancha was sent into the world; for by reason of his having +formed a resolution so honourable as that of seeking to revive and restore +to the world the long-lost and almost defunct order of knight-errantry, we +now enjoy in this age of ours, so poor in light entertainment, not only +the charm of his veracious history, but also of the tales and episodes +contained in it which are, in a measure, no less pleasing, ingenious, and +truthful, than the history itself; which, resuming its thread, carded, +spun, and wound, relates that just as the curate was going to offer +consolation to Cardenio, he was interrupted by a voice that fell upon his +ear saying in plaintive tones: +</p> +<p> +“O God! is it possible I have found a place that may serve as a secret +grave for the weary load of this body that I support so unwillingly? If +the solitude these mountains promise deceives me not, it is so; ah! woe is +me! how much more grateful to my mind will be the society of these rocks +and brakes that permit me to complain of my misfortune to Heaven, than +that of any human being, for there is none on earth to look to for counsel +in doubt, comfort in sorrow, or relief in distress!” +</p> +<p> +All this was heard distinctly by the curate and those with him, and as it +seemed to them to be uttered close by, as indeed it was, they got up to +look for the speaker, and before they had gone twenty paces they +discovered behind a rock, seated at the foot of an ash tree, a youth in +the dress of a peasant, whose face they were unable at the moment to see +as he was leaning forward, bathing his feet in the brook that flowed past. +They approached so silently that he did not perceive them, being fully +occupied in bathing his feet, which were so fair that they looked like two +pieces of shining crystal brought forth among the other stones of the +brook. The whiteness and beauty of these feet struck them with surprise, +for they did not seem to have been made to crush clods or to follow the +plough and the oxen as their owner’s dress suggested; and so, finding they +had not been noticed, the curate, who was in front, made a sign to the +other two to conceal themselves behind some fragments of rock that lay +there; which they did, observing closely what the youth was about. He had +on a loose double-skirted dark brown jacket bound tight to his body with a +white cloth; he wore besides breeches and gaiters of brown cloth, and on +his head a brown montera; and he had the gaiters turned up as far as the +middle of the leg, which verily seemed to be of pure alabaster. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c28b" id="c28b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c28b.jpg (339K)" src="images/c28b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c28b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +As soon as he had done bathing his beautiful feet, he wiped them with a +towel he took from under the montera, on taking off which he raised his +face, and those who were watching him had an opportunity of seeing a +beauty so exquisite that Cardenio said to the curate in a whisper: +</p> +<p> +“As this is not Luscinda, it is no human creature but a divine being.” +</p> +<p> +The youth then took off the montera, and shaking his head from side to +side there broke loose and spread out a mass of hair that the beams of the +sun might have envied; by this they knew that what had seemed a peasant +was a lovely woman, nay the most beautiful the eyes of two of them had +ever beheld, or even Cardenio’s if they had not seen and known Luscinda, +for he afterwards declared that only the beauty of Luscinda could compare +with this. The long auburn tresses not only covered her shoulders, but +such was their length and abundance, concealed her all round beneath their +masses, so that except the feet nothing of her form was visible. She now +used her hands as a comb, and if her feet had seemed like bits of crystal +in the water, her hands looked like pieces of driven snow among her locks; +all which increased not only the admiration of the three beholders, but +their anxiety to learn who she was. With this object they resolved to show +themselves, and at the stir they made in getting upon their feet the fair +damsel raised her head, and parting her hair from before her eyes with +both hands, she looked to see who had made the noise, and the instant she +perceived them she started to her feet, and without waiting to put on her +shoes or gather up her hair, hastily snatched up a bundle as though of +clothes that she had beside her, and, scared and alarmed, endeavoured to +take flight; but before she had gone six paces she fell to the ground, her +delicate feet being unable to bear the roughness of the stones; seeing +which, the three hastened towards her, and the curate addressing her first +said: +</p> +<p> +“Stay, señora, whoever you may be, for those whom you see here only desire +to be of service to you; you have no need to attempt a flight so heedless, +for neither can your feet bear it, nor we allow it.” +</p> +<p> +Taken by surprise and bewildered, she made no reply to these words. They, +however, came towards her, and the curate taking her hand went on to say: +</p> +<p> +“What your dress would hide, señora, is made known to us by your hair; a +clear proof that it can be no trifling cause that has disguised your +beauty in a garb so unworthy of it, and sent it into solitudes like these +where we have had the good fortune to find you, if not to relieve your +distress, at least to offer you comfort; for no distress, so long as life +lasts, can be so oppressive or reach such a height as to make the sufferer +refuse to listen to comfort offered with good intention. And so, señora, +or señor, or whatever you prefer to be, dismiss the fears that our +appearance has caused you and make us acquainted with your good or evil +fortunes, for from all of us together, or from each one of us, you will +receive sympathy in your trouble.” +</p> +<p> +While the curate was speaking, the disguised damsel stood as if +spell-bound, looking at them without opening her lips or uttering a word, +just like a village rustic to whom something strange that he has never +seen before has been suddenly shown; but on the curate addressing some +further words to the same effect to her, sighing deeply she broke silence +and said: +</p> +<p> +“Since the solitude of these mountains has been unable to conceal me, and +the escape of my dishevelled tresses will not allow my tongue to deal in +falsehoods, it would be idle for me now to make any further pretence of +what, if you were to believe me, you would believe more out of courtesy +than for any other reason. This being so, I say I thank you, sirs, for the +offer you have made me, which places me under the obligation of complying +with the request you have made of me; though I fear the account I shall +give you of my misfortunes will excite in you as much concern as +compassion, for you will be unable to suggest anything to remedy them or +any consolation to alleviate them. However, that my honour may not be left +a matter of doubt in your minds, now that you have discovered me to be a +woman, and see that I am young, alone, and in this dress, things that +taken together or separately would be enough to destroy any good name, I +feel bound to tell what I would willingly keep secret if I could.” +</p> +<p> +All this she who was now seen to be a lovely woman delivered without any +hesitation, with so much ease and in so sweet a voice that they were not +less charmed by her intelligence than by her beauty, and as they again +repeated their offers and entreaties to her to fulfil her promise, she +without further pressing, first modestly covering her feet and gathering +up her hair, seated herself on a stone with the three placed around her, +and, after an effort to restrain some tears that came to her eyes, in a +clear and steady voice began her story thus: +</p> +<p> +“In this Andalusia there is a town from which a duke takes a title which +makes him one of those that are called Grandees of Spain. This nobleman +has two sons, the elder heir to his dignity and apparently to his good +qualities; the younger heir to I know not what, unless it be the treachery +of Vellido and the falsehood of Ganelon. My parents are this lord’s +vassals, lowly in origin, but so wealthy that if birth had conferred as +much on them as fortune, they would have had nothing left to desire, nor +should I have had reason to fear trouble like that in which I find myself +now; for it may be that my ill fortune came of theirs in not having been +nobly born. It is true they are not so low that they have any reason to be +ashamed of their condition, but neither are they so high as to remove from +my mind the impression that my mishap comes of their humble birth. They +are, in short, peasants, plain homely people, without any taint of +disreputable blood, and, as the saying is, old rusty Christians, but so +rich that by their wealth and free-handed way of life they are coming by +degrees to be considered gentlefolk by birth, and even by position; though +the wealth and nobility they thought most of was having me for their +daughter; and as they have no other child to make their heir, and are +affectionate parents, I was one of the most indulged daughters that ever +parents indulged. +</p> +<p> +“I was the mirror in which they beheld themselves, the staff of their old +age, and the object in which, with submission to Heaven, all their wishes +centred, and mine were in accordance with theirs, for I knew their worth; +and as I was mistress of their hearts, so was I also of their possessions. +Through me they engaged or dismissed their servants; through my hands +passed the accounts and returns of what was sown and reaped; the +oil-mills, the wine-presses, the count of the flocks and herds, the +beehives, all in short that a rich farmer like my father has or can have, +I had under my care, and I acted as steward and mistress with an assiduity +on my part and satisfaction on theirs that I cannot well describe to you. +The leisure hours left to me after I had given the requisite orders to the +head-shepherds, overseers, and other labourers, I passed in such +employments as are not only allowable but necessary for young girls, those +that the needle, embroidery cushion, and spinning wheel usually afford, +and if to refresh my mind I quitted them for a while, I found recreation +in reading some devotional book or playing the harp, for experience taught +me that music soothes the troubled mind and relieves weariness of spirit. +Such was the life I led in my parents’ house and if I have depicted it +thus minutely, it is not out of ostentation, or to let you know that I am +rich, but that you may see how, without any fault of mine, I have fallen +from the happy condition I have described, to the misery I am in at +present. The truth is, that while I was leading this busy life, in a +retirement that might compare with that of a monastery, and unseen as I +thought by any except the servants of the house (for when I went to Mass +it was so early in the morning, and I was so closely attended by my mother +and the women of the household, and so thickly veiled and so shy, that my +eyes scarcely saw more ground than I trod on), in spite of all this, the +eyes of love, or idleness, more properly speaking, that the lynx’s cannot +rival, discovered me, with the help of the assiduity of Don Fernando; for +that is the name of the younger son of the duke I told of.” +</p> +<p> +The moment the speaker mentioned the name of Don Fernando, Cardenio +changed colour and broke into a sweat, with such signs of emotion that the +curate and the barber, who observed it, feared that one of the mad fits +which they heard attacked him sometimes was coming upon him; but Cardenio +showed no further agitation and remained quiet, regarding the peasant girl +with fixed attention, for he began to suspect who she was. She, however, +without noticing the excitement of Cardenio, continuing her story, went on +to say: +</p> +<p> +“And they had hardly discovered me, when, as he owned afterwards, he was +smitten with a violent love for me, as the manner in which it displayed +itself plainly showed. But to shorten the long recital of my woes, I will +pass over in silence all the artifices employed by Don Fernando for +declaring his passion for me. He bribed all the household, he gave and +offered gifts and presents to my parents; every day was like a holiday or +a merry-making in our street; by night no one could sleep for the music; +the love letters that used to come to my hand, no one knew how, were +innumerable, full of tender pleadings and pledges, containing more +promises and oaths than there were letters in them; all which not only did +not soften me, but hardened my heart against him, as if he had been my +mortal enemy, and as if everything he did to make me yield were done with +the opposite intention. Not that the high-bred bearing of Don Fernando was +disagreeable to me, or that I found his importunities wearisome; for it +gave me a certain sort of satisfaction to find myself so sought and prized +by a gentleman of such distinction, and I was not displeased at seeing my +praises in his letters (for however ugly we women may be, it seems to me +it always pleases us to hear ourselves called beautiful) but that my own +sense of right was opposed to all this, as well as the repeated advice of +my parents, who now very plainly perceived Don Fernando’s purpose, for he +cared very little if all the world knew it. They told me they trusted and +confided their honour and good name to my virtue and rectitude alone, and +bade me consider the disparity between Don Fernando and myself, from which +I might conclude that his intentions, whatever he might say to the +contrary, had for their aim his own pleasure rather than my advantage; and +if I were at all desirous of opposing an obstacle to his unreasonable +suit, they were ready, they said, to marry me at once to anyone I +preferred, either among the leading people of our own town, or of any of +those in the neighbourhood; for with their wealth and my good name, a +match might be looked for in any quarter. This offer, and their sound +advice strengthened my resolution, and I never gave Don Fernando a word in +reply that could hold out to him any hope of success, however remote. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c28c" id="c28c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c28c.jpg (279K)" src="images/c28c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c28c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“All this caution of mine, which he must have taken for coyness, had +apparently the effect of increasing his wanton appetite—for that is +the name I give to his passion for me; had it been what he declared it to +be, you would not know of it now, because there would have been no +occasion to tell you of it. At length he learned that my parents were +contemplating marriage for me in order to put an end to his hopes of +obtaining possession of me, or at least to secure additional protectors to +watch over me, and this intelligence or suspicion made him act as you +shall hear. One night, as I was in my chamber with no other companion than +a damsel who waited on me, with the doors carefully locked lest my honour +should be imperilled through any carelessness, I know not nor can conceive +how it happened, but, with all this seclusion and these precautions, and +in the solitude and silence of my retirement, I found him standing before +me, a vision that so astounded me that it deprived my eyes of sight, and +my tongue of speech. I had no power to utter a cry, nor, I think, did he +give me time to utter one, as he immediately approached me, and taking me +in his arms (for, overwhelmed as I was, I was powerless, I say, to help +myself), he began to make such professions to me that I know not how +falsehood could have had the power of dressing them up to seem so like +truth; and the traitor contrived that his tears should vouch for his +words, and his sighs for his sincerity. +</p> +<p> +“I, a poor young creature alone, ill versed among my people in cases such +as this, began, I know not how, to think all these lying protestations +true, though without being moved by his sighs and tears to anything more +than pure compassion; and so, as the first feeling of bewilderment passed +away, and I began in some degree to recover myself, I said to him with +more courage than I thought I could have possessed, ‘If, as I am now in +your arms, señor, I were in the claws of a fierce lion, and my deliverance +could be procured by doing or saying anything to the prejudice of my +honour, it would no more be in my power to do it or say it, than it would +be possible that what was should not have been; so then, if you hold my +body clasped in your arms, I hold my soul secured by virtuous intentions, +very different from yours, as you will see if you attempt to carry them +into effect by force. I am your vassal, but I am not your slave; your +nobility neither has nor should have any right to dishonour or degrade my +humble birth; and low-born peasant as I am, I have my self-respect as much +as you, a lord and gentleman: with me your violence will be to no purpose, +your wealth will have no weight, your words will have no power to deceive +me, nor your sighs or tears to soften me: were I to see any of the things +I speak of in him whom my parents gave me as a husband, his will should be +mine, and mine should be bounded by his; and my honour being preserved +even though my inclinations were not would willingly yield him what you, +señor, would now obtain by force; and this I say lest you should suppose +that any but my lawful husband shall ever win anything of me.’ ‘If that,’ +said this disloyal gentleman, ‘be the only scruple you feel, fairest +Dorothea’ (for that is the name of this unhappy being), ‘see here I give +you my hand to be yours, and let Heaven, from which nothing is hid, and +this image of Our Lady you have here, be witnesses of this pledge.’” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c28d" id="c28d"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c28d.jpg (289K)" src="images/c28d.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c28d.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +When Cardenio heard her say she was called Dorothea, he showed fresh +agitation and felt convinced of the truth of his former suspicion, but he +was unwilling to interrupt the story, and wished to hear the end of what +he already all but knew, so he merely said: +</p> +<p> +“What! is Dorothea your name, señora? I have heard of another of the same +name who can perhaps match your misfortunes. But proceed; by-and-by I may +tell you something that will astonish you as much as it will excite your +compassion.” +</p> +<p> +Dorothea was struck by Cardenio’s words as well as by his strange and +miserable attire, and begged him if he knew anything concerning her to +tell it to her at once, for if fortune had left her any blessing it was +courage to bear whatever calamity might fall upon her, as she felt sure +that none could reach her capable of increasing in any degree what she +endured already. +</p> +<p> +“I would not let the occasion pass, señora,” replied Cardenio, “of telling +you what I think, if what I suspect were the truth, but so far there has +been no opportunity, nor is it of any importance to you to know it.” +</p> +<p> +“Be it as it may,” replied Dorothea, “what happened in my story was that +Don Fernando, taking an image that stood in the chamber, placed it as a +witness of our betrothal, and with the most binding words and extravagant +oaths gave me his promise to become my husband; though before he had made +an end of pledging himself I bade him consider well what he was doing, and +think of the anger his father would feel at seeing him married to a +peasant girl and one of his vassals; I told him not to let my beauty, such +as it was, blind him, for that was not enough to furnish an excuse for his +transgression; and if in the love he bore me he wished to do me any +kindness, it would be to leave my lot to follow its course at the level my +condition required; for marriages so unequal never brought happiness, nor +did they continue long to afford the enjoyment they began with. +</p> +<p> +“All this that I have now repeated I said to him, and much more which I +cannot recollect; but it had no effect in inducing him to forego his +purpose; he who has no intention of paying does not trouble himself about +difficulties when he is striking the bargain. At the same time I argued +the matter briefly in my own mind, saying to myself, ‘I shall not be the +first who has risen through marriage from a lowly to a lofty station, nor +will Don Fernando be the first whom beauty or, as is more likely, a blind +attachment, has led to mate himself below his rank. Then, since I am +introducing no new usage or practice, I may as well avail myself of the +honour that chance offers me, for even though his inclination for me +should not outlast the attainment of his wishes, I shall be, after all, +his wife before God. And if I strive to repel him by scorn, I can see +that, fair means failing, he is in a mood to use force, and I shall be +left dishonoured and without any means of proving my innocence to those +who cannot know how innocently I have come to be in this position; for +what arguments would persuade my parents that this gentleman entered my +chamber without my consent?’ +</p> +<p> +“All these questions and answers passed through my mind in a moment; but +the oaths of Don Fernando, the witnesses he appealed to, the tears he +shed, and lastly the charms of his person and his high-bred grace, which, +accompanied by such signs of genuine love, might well have conquered a +heart even more free and coy than mine—these were the things that +more than all began to influence me and lead me unawares to my ruin. I +called my waiting-maid to me, that there might be a witness on earth +besides those in Heaven, and again Don Fernando renewed and repeated his +oaths, invoked as witnesses fresh saints in addition to the former ones, +called down upon himself a thousand curses hereafter should he fail to +keep his promise, shed more tears, redoubled his sighs and pressed me +closer in his arms, from which he had never allowed me to escape; and so I +was left by my maid, and ceased to be one, and he became a traitor and a +perjured man. +</p> +<p> +“The day which followed the night of my misfortune did not come so +quickly, I imagine, as Don Fernando wished, for when desire has attained +its object, the greatest pleasure is to fly from the scene of pleasure. I +say so because Don Fernando made all haste to leave me, and by the +adroitness of my maid, who was indeed the one who had admitted him, gained +the street before daybreak; but on taking leave of me he told me, though +not with as much earnestness and fervour as when he came, that I might +rest assured of his faith and of the sanctity and sincerity of his oaths; +and to confirm his words he drew a rich ring off his finger and placed it +upon mine. He then took his departure and I was left, I know not whether +sorrowful or happy; all I can say is, I was left agitated and troubled in +mind and almost bewildered by what had taken place, and I had not the +spirit, or else it did not occur to me, to chide my maid for the treachery +she had been guilty of in concealing Don Fernando in my chamber; for as +yet I was unable to make up my mind whether what had befallen me was for +good or evil. I told Don Fernando at parting, that as I was now his, he +might see me on other nights in the same way, until it should be his +pleasure to let the matter become known; but, except the following night, +he came no more, nor for more than a month could I catch a glimpse of him +in the street or in church, while I wearied myself with watching for one; +although I knew he was in the town, and almost every day went out hunting, +a pastime he was very fond of. I remember well how sad and dreary those +days and hours were to me; I remember well how I began to doubt as they +went by, and even to lose confidence in the faith of Don Fernando; and I +remember, too, how my maid heard those words in reproof of her audacity +that she had not heard before, and how I was forced to put a constraint on +my tears and on the expression of my countenance, not to give my parents +cause to ask me why I was so melancholy, and drive me to invent falsehoods +in reply. But all this was suddenly brought to an end, for the time came +when all such considerations were disregarded, and there was no further +question of honour, when my patience gave way and the secret of my heart +became known abroad. The reason was, that a few days later it was reported +in the town that Don Fernando had been married in a neighbouring city to a +maiden of rare beauty, the daughter of parents of distinguished position, +though not so rich that her portion would entitle her to look for so +brilliant a match; it was said, too, that her name was Luscinda, and that +at the betrothal some strange things had happened.” +</p> +<p> +Cardenio heard the name of Luscinda, but he only shrugged his shoulders, +bit his lips, bent his brows, and before long two streams of tears escaped +from his eyes. Dorothea, however, did not interrupt her story, but went on +in these words: +</p> +<p> +“This sad intelligence reached my ears, and, instead of being struck with +a chill, with such wrath and fury did my heart burn that I scarcely +restrained myself from rushing out into the streets, crying aloud and +proclaiming openly the perfidy and treachery of which I was the victim; +but this transport of rage was for the time checked by a resolution I +formed, to be carried out the same night, and that was to assume this +dress, which I got from a servant of my father’s, one of the zagals, as +they are called in farmhouses, to whom I confided the whole of my +misfortune, and whom I entreated to accompany me to the city where I heard +my enemy was. He, though he remonstrated with me for my boldness, and +condemned my resolution, when he saw me bent upon my purpose, offered to +bear me company, as he said, to the end of the world. I at once packed up +in a linen pillow-case a woman’s dress, and some jewels and money to +provide for emergencies, and in the silence of the night, without letting +my treacherous maid know, I sallied forth from the house, accompanied by +my servant and abundant anxieties, and on foot set out for the city, but +borne as it were on wings by my eagerness to reach it, if not to prevent +what I presumed to be already done, at least to call upon Don Fernando to +tell me with what conscience he had done it. I reached my destination in +two days and a half, and on entering the city inquired for the house of +Luscinda’s parents. The first person I asked gave me more in reply than I +sought to know; he showed me the house, and told me all that had occurred +at the betrothal of the daughter of the family, an affair of such +notoriety in the city that it was the talk of every knot of idlers in the +street. He said that on the night of Don Fernando’s betrothal with +Luscinda, as soon as she had consented to be his bride by saying ‘Yes,’ +she was taken with a sudden fainting fit, and that on the bridegroom +approaching to unlace the bosom of her dress to give her air, he found a +paper in her own handwriting, in which she said and declared that she +could not be Don Fernando’s bride, because she was already Cardenio’s, +who, according to the man’s account, was a gentleman of distinction of the +same city; and that if she had accepted Don Fernando, it was only in +obedience to her parents. In short, he said, the words of the paper made +it clear she meant to kill herself on the completion of the betrothal, and +gave her reasons for putting an end to herself all which was confirmed, it +was said, by a dagger they found somewhere in her clothes. On seeing this, +Don Fernando, persuaded that Luscinda had befooled, slighted, and trifled +with him, assailed her before she had recovered from her swoon, and tried +to stab her with the dagger that had been found, and would have succeeded +had not her parents and those who were present prevented him. It was said, +moreover, that Don Fernando went away at once, and that Luscinda did not +recover from her prostration until the next day, when she told her parents +how she was really the bride of that Cardenio I have mentioned. I learned +besides that Cardenio, according to report, had been present at the +betrothal; and that upon seeing her betrothed contrary to his expectation, +he had quitted the city in despair, leaving behind him a letter declaring +the wrong Luscinda had done him, and his intention of going where no one +should ever see him again. All this was a matter of notoriety in the city, +and everyone spoke of it; especially when it became known that Luscinda +was missing from her father’s house and from the city, for she was not to +be found anywhere, to the distraction of her parents, who knew not what +steps to take to recover her. What I learned revived my hopes, and I was +better pleased not to have found Don Fernando than to find him married, +for it seemed to me that the door was not yet entirely shut upon relief in +my case, and I thought that perhaps Heaven had put this impediment in the +way of the second marriage, to lead him to recognise his obligations under +the former one, and reflect that as a Christian he was bound to consider +his soul above all human objects. All this passed through my mind, and I +strove to comfort myself without comfort, indulging in faint and distant +hopes of cherishing that life that I now abhor. +</p> +<p> +“But while I was in the city, uncertain what to do, as I could not find +Don Fernando, I heard notice given by the public crier offering a great +reward to anyone who should find me, and giving the particulars of my age +and of the very dress I wore; and I heard it said that the lad who came +with me had taken me away from my father’s house; a thing that cut me to +the heart, showing how low my good name had fallen, since it was not +enough that I should lose it by my flight, but they must add with whom I +had fled, and that one so much beneath me and so unworthy of my +consideration. The instant I heard the notice I quitted the city with my +servant, who now began to show signs of wavering in his fidelity to me, +and the same night, for fear of discovery, we entered the most thickly +wooded part of these mountains. But, as is commonly said, one evil calls +up another and the end of one misfortune is apt to be the beginning of one +still greater, and so it proved in my case; for my worthy servant, until +then so faithful and trusty when he found me in this lonely spot, moved +more by his own villainy than by my beauty, sought to take advantage of +the opportunity which these solitudes seemed to present him, and with +little shame and less fear of God and respect for me, began to make +overtures to me; and finding that I replied to the effrontery of his +proposals with justly severe language, he laid aside the entreaties which +he had employed at first, and began to use violence. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c28e" id="c28e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c28e.jpg (324K)" src="images/c28e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c28e.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“But just Heaven, that seldom fails to watch over and aid good intentions, +so aided mine that with my slight strength and with little exertion I +pushed him over a precipice, where I left him, whether dead or alive I +know not; and then, with greater speed than seemed possible in my terror +and fatigue, I made my way into the mountains, without any other thought +or purpose save that of hiding myself among them, and escaping my father +and those despatched in search of me by his orders. It is now I know not +how many months since with this object I came here, where I met a herdsman +who engaged me as his servant at a place in the heart of this Sierra, and +all this time I have been serving him as herd, striving to keep always +afield to hide these locks which have now unexpectedly betrayed me. But +all my care and pains were unavailing, for my master made the discovery +that I was not a man, and harboured the same base designs as my servant; +and as fortune does not always supply a remedy in cases of difficulty, and +I had no precipice or ravine at hand down which to fling the master and +cure his passion, as I had in the servant’s case, I thought it a lesser +evil to leave him and again conceal myself among these crags, than make +trial of my strength and argument with him. So, as I say, once more I went +into hiding to seek for some place where I might with sighs and tears +implore Heaven to have pity on my misery, and grant me help and strength +to escape from it, or let me die among the solitudes, leaving no trace of +an unhappy being who, by no fault of hers, has furnished matter for talk +and scandal at home and abroad.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c28f" id="c28f"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c28f.jpg (42K)" src="images/c28f.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch29" id="ch29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF THE DROLL DEVICE AND METHOD ADOPTED TO EXTRICATE OUR +LOVE-STRICKEN KNIGHT FROM THE SEVERE PENANCE HE HAD IMPOSED UPON HIMSELF +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c29a" id="c29a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c29a.jpg (99K)" src="images/c29a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c29a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Such, sirs, is the true story of my sad adventures; judge for yourselves +now whether the sighs and lamentations you heard, and the tears that +flowed from my eyes, had not sufficient cause even if I had indulged in +them more freely; and if you consider the nature of my misfortune you will +see that consolation is idle, as there is no possible remedy for it. All I +ask of you is, what you may easily and reasonably do, to show me where I +may pass my life unharassed by the fear and dread of discovery by those +who are in search of me; for though the great love my parents bear me +makes me feel sure of being kindly received by them, so great is my +feeling of shame at the mere thought that I cannot present myself before +them as they expect, that I had rather banish myself from their sight for +ever than look them in the face with the reflection that they beheld mine +stripped of that purity they had a right to expect in me.” +</p> +<p> +With these words she became silent, and the colour that overspread her +face showed plainly the pain and shame she was suffering at heart. In +theirs the listeners felt as much pity as wonder at her misfortunes; but +as the curate was just about to offer her some consolation and advice +Cardenio forestalled him, saying, “So then, señora, you are the fair +Dorothea, the only daughter of the rich Clenardo?” Dorothea was astonished +at hearing her father’s name, and at the miserable appearance of him who +mentioned it, for it has been already said how wretchedly clad Cardenio +was; so she said to him: +</p> +<p> +“And who may you be, brother, who seem to know my father’s name so well? +For so far, if I remember rightly, I have not mentioned it in the whole +story of my misfortunes.” +</p> +<p> +“I am that unhappy being, señora,” replied Cardenio, “whom, as you have +said, Luscinda declared to be her husband; I am the unfortunate Cardenio, +whom the wrong-doing of him who has brought you to your present condition +has reduced to the state you see me in, bare, ragged, bereft of all human +comfort, and what is worse, of reason, for I only possess it when Heaven +is pleased for some short space to restore it to me. I, Dorothea, am he +who witnessed the wrong done by Don Fernando, and waited to hear the ‘Yes’ +uttered by which Luscinda owned herself his betrothed: I am he who had not +courage enough to see how her fainting fit ended, or what came of the +paper that was found in her bosom, because my heart had not the fortitude +to endure so many strokes of ill-fortune at once; and so losing patience I +quitted the house, and leaving a letter with my host, which I entreated +him to place in Luscinda’s hands, I betook myself to these solitudes, +resolved to end here the life I hated as if it were my mortal enemy. But +fate would not rid me of it, contenting itself with robbing me of my +reason, perhaps to preserve me for the good fortune I have had in meeting +you; for if that which you have just told us be true, as I believe it to +be, it may be that Heaven has yet in store for both of us a happier +termination to our misfortunes than we look for; because seeing that +Luscinda cannot marry Don Fernando, being mine, as she has herself so +openly declared, and that Don Fernando cannot marry her as he is yours, we +may reasonably hope that Heaven will restore to us what is ours, as it is +still in existence and not yet alienated or destroyed. And as we have this +consolation springing from no very visionary hope or wild fancy, I entreat +you, señora, to form new resolutions in your better mind, as I mean to do +in mine, preparing yourself to look forward to happier fortunes; for I +swear to you by the faith of a gentleman and a Christian not to desert you +until I see you in possession of Don Fernando, and if I cannot by words +induce him to recognise his obligation to you, in that case to avail +myself of the right which my rank as a gentleman gives me, and with just +cause challenge him on account of the injury he has done you, not +regarding my own wrongs, which I shall leave to Heaven to avenge, while I +on earth devote myself to yours.” +</p> +<p> +Cardenio’s words completed the astonishment of Dorothea, and not knowing +how to return thanks for such an offer, she attempted to kiss his feet; +but Cardenio would not permit it, and the licentiate replied for both, +commended the sound reasoning of Cardenio, and lastly, begged, advised, +and urged them to come with him to his village, where they might furnish +themselves with what they needed, and take measures to discover Don +Fernando, or restore Dorothea to her parents, or do what seemed to them +most advisable. Cardenio and Dorothea thanked him, and accepted the kind +offer he made them; and the barber, who had been listening to all +attentively and in silence, on his part some kindly words also, and with +no less good-will than the curate offered his services in any way that +might be of use to them. He also explained to them in a few words the +object that had brought them there, and the strange nature of Don +Quixote’s madness, and how they were waiting for his squire, who had gone +in search of him. Like the recollection of a dream, the quarrel he had had +with Don Quixote came back to Cardenio’s memory, and he described it to +the others; but he was unable to say what the dispute was about. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c29b" id="c29b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c29b.jpg (351K)" src="images/c29b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c29b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +At this moment they heard a shout, and recognised it as coming from Sancho +Panza, who, not finding them where he had left them, was calling aloud to +them. They went to meet him, and in answer to their inquiries about Don +Quixote, he told them how he had found him stripped to his shirt, lank, +yellow, half dead with hunger, and sighing for his lady Dulcinea; and +although he had told him that she commanded him to quit that place and +come to El Toboso, where she was expecting him, he had answered that he +was determined not to appear in the presence of her beauty until he had +done deeds to make him worthy of her favour; and if this went on, Sancho +said, he ran the risk of not becoming an emperor as in duty bound, or even +an archbishop, which was the least he could be; for which reason they +ought to consider what was to be done to get him away from there. The +licentiate in reply told him not to be uneasy, for they would fetch him +away in spite of himself. He then told Cardenio and Dorothea what they had +proposed to do to cure Don Quixote, or at any rate take him home; upon +which Dorothea said that she could play the distressed damsel better than +the barber; especially as she had there the dress in which to do it to the +life, and that they might trust to her acting the part in every particular +requisite for carrying out their scheme, for she had read a great many +books of chivalry, and knew exactly the style in which afflicted damsels +begged boons of knights-errant. +</p> +<p> +“In that case,” said the curate, “there is nothing more required than to +set about it at once, for beyond a doubt fortune is declaring itself in +our favour, since it has so unexpectedly begun to open a door for your +relief, and smoothed the way for us to our object.” +</p> +<p> +Dorothea then took out of her pillow-case a complete petticoat of some +rich stuff, and a green mantle of some other fine material, and a necklace +and other ornaments out of a little box, and with these in an instant she +so arrayed herself that she looked like a great and rich lady. All this, +and more, she said, she had taken from home in case of need, but that +until then she had had no occasion to make use of it. They were all highly +delighted with her grace, air, and beauty, and declared Don Fernando to be +a man of very little taste when he rejected such charms. But the one who +admired her most was Sancho Panza, for it seemed to him (what indeed was +true) that in all the days of his life he had never seen such a lovely +creature; and he asked the curate with great eagerness who this beautiful +lady was, and what she wanted in these out-of-the-way quarters. +</p> +<p> +“This fair lady, brother Sancho,” replied the curate, “is no less a +personage than the heiress in the direct male line of the great kingdom of +Micomicon, who has come in search of your master to beg a boon of him, +which is that he redress a wrong or injury that a wicked giant has done +her; and from the fame as a good knight which your master has acquired far +and wide, this princess has come from Guinea to seek him.” +</p> +<p> +“A lucky seeking and a lucky finding!” said Sancho Panza at this; +“especially if my master has the good fortune to redress that injury, and +right that wrong, and kill that son of a bitch of a giant your worship +speaks of; as kill him he will if he meets him, unless, indeed, he happens +to be a phantom; for my master has no power at all against phantoms. But +one thing among others I would beg of you, señor licentiate, which is, +that, to prevent my master taking a fancy to be an archbishop, for that is +what I’m afraid of, your worship would recommend him to marry this +princess at once; for in this way he will be disabled from taking +archbishop’s orders, and will easily come into his empire, and I to the +end of my desires; I have been thinking over the matter carefully, and by +what I can make out I find it will not do for me that my master should +become an archbishop, because I am no good for the Church, as I am +married; and for me now, having as I have a wife and children, to set +about obtaining dispensations to enable me to hold a place of profit under +the Church, would be endless work; so that, señor, it all turns on my +master marrying this lady at once—for as yet I do not know her +grace, and so I cannot call her by her name.” +</p> +<p> +“She is called the Princess Micomicona,” said the curate; “for as her +kingdom is Micomicon, it is clear that must be her name.” +</p> +<p> +“There’s no doubt of that,” replied Sancho, “for I have known many to take +their name and title from the place where they were born and call +themselves Pedro of Alcala, Juan of Ubeda, and Diego of Valladolid; and it +may be that over there in Guinea queens have the same way of taking the +names of their kingdoms.” +</p> +<p> +“So it may,” said the curate; “and as for your master’s marrying, I will +do all in my power towards it:” with which Sancho was as much pleased as +the curate was amazed at his simplicity and at seeing what a hold the +absurdities of his master had taken of his fancy, for he had evidently +persuaded himself that he was going to be an emperor. +</p> +<p> +By this time Dorothea had seated herself upon the curate’s mule, and the +barber had fitted the ox-tail beard to his face, and they now told Sancho +to conduct them to where Don Quixote was, warning him not to say that he +knew either the licentiate or the barber, as his master’s becoming an +emperor entirely depended on his not recognising them; neither the curate +nor Cardenio, however, thought fit to go with them; Cardenio lest he +should remind Don Quixote of the quarrel he had with him, and the curate +as there was no necessity for his presence just yet, so they allowed the +others to go on before them, while they themselves followed slowly on +foot. The curate did not forget to instruct Dorothea how to act, but she +said they might make their minds easy, as everything would be done exactly +as the books of chivalry required and described. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c29c" id="c29c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c29c.jpg (286K)" src="images/c29c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c29c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +They had gone about three-quarters of a league when they discovered Don +Quixote in a wilderness of rocks, by this time clothed, but without his +armour; and as soon as Dorothea saw him and was told by Sancho that that +was Don Quixote, she whipped her palfrey, the well-bearded barber +following her, and on coming up to him her squire sprang from his mule and +came forward to receive her in his arms, and she dismounting with great +ease of manner advanced to kneel before the feet of Don Quixote; and +though he strove to raise her up, she without rising addressed him in this +fashion: +</p> +<p> +“From this spot I will not rise, valiant and doughty knight, until your +goodness and courtesy grant me a boon, which will redound to the honour +and renown of your person and render a service to the most disconsolate +and afflicted damsel the sun has seen; and if the might of your strong arm +corresponds to the repute of your immortal fame, you are bound to aid the +helpless being who, led by the savour of your renowned name, hath come +from far distant lands to seek your aid in her misfortunes.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not answer a word, beauteous lady,” replied Don Quixote, “nor will +I listen to anything further concerning you, until you rise from the +earth.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not rise, señor,” answered the afflicted damsel, “unless of your +courtesy the boon I ask is first granted me.” +</p> +<p> +“I grant and accord it,” said Don Quixote, “provided without detriment or +prejudice to my king, my country, or her who holds the key of my heart and +freedom, it may be complied with.” +</p> +<p> +“It will not be to the detriment or prejudice of any of them, my worthy +lord,” said the afflicted damsel; and here Sancho Panza drew close to his +master’s ear and said to him very softly, “Your worship may very safely +grant the boon she asks; it’s nothing at all; only to kill a big giant; +and she who asks it is the exalted Princess Micomicona, queen of the great +kingdom of Micomicon of Ethiopia.” +</p> +<p> +“Let her be who she may,” replied Don Quixote, “I will do what is my +bounden duty, and what my conscience bids me, in conformity with what I +have professed;” and turning to the damsel he said, “Let your great beauty +rise, for I grant the boon which you would ask of me.” +</p> +<p> +“Then what I ask,” said the damsel, “is that your magnanimous person +accompany me at once whither I will conduct you, and that you promise not +to engage in any other adventure or quest until you have avenged me of a +traitor who against all human and divine law, has usurped my kingdom.” +</p> +<p> +“I repeat that I grant it,” replied Don Quixote; “and so, lady, you may +from this day forth lay aside the melancholy that distresses you, and let +your failing hopes gather new life and strength, for with the help of God +and of my arm you will soon see yourself restored to your kingdom, and +seated upon the throne of your ancient and mighty realm, notwithstanding +and despite of the felons who would gainsay it; and now hands to the work, +for in delay there is apt to be danger.” +</p> +<p> +The distressed damsel strove with much pertinacity to kiss his hands; but +Don Quixote, who was in all things a polished and courteous knight, would +by no means allow it, but made her rise and embraced her with great +courtesy and politeness, and ordered Sancho to look to Rocinante’s girths, +and to arm him without a moment’s delay. Sancho took down the armour, +which was hung up on a tree like a trophy, and having seen to the girths +armed his master in a trice, who as soon as he found himself in his armour +exclaimed: +</p> +<p> +“Let us be gone in the name of God to bring aid to this great lady.” +</p> +<p> +The barber was all this time on his knees at great pains to hide his +laughter and not let his beard fall, for had it fallen maybe their fine +scheme would have come to nothing; but now seeing the boon granted, and +the promptitude with which Don Quixote prepared to set out in compliance +with it, he rose and took his lady’s hand, and between them they placed +her upon the mule. Don Quixote then mounted Rocinante, and the barber +settled himself on his beast, Sancho being left to go on foot, which made +him feel anew the loss of his Dapple, finding the want of him now. But he +bore all with cheerfulness, being persuaded that his master had now fairly +started and was just on the point of becoming an emperor; for he felt no +doubt at all that he would marry this princess, and be king of Micomicon +at least. The only thing that troubled him was the reflection that this +kingdom was in the land of the blacks, and that the people they would give +him for vassals would be all black; but for this he soon found a remedy in +his fancy, and said he to himself, “What is it to me if my vassals are +blacks? What more have I to do than make a cargo of them and carry them to +Spain, where I can sell them and get ready money for them, and with it buy +some title or some office in which to live at ease all the days of my +life? Not unless you go to sleep and haven’t the wit or skill to turn +things to account and sell three, six, or ten thousand vassals while you +would be talking about it! By God I will stir them up, big and little, or +as best I can, and let them be ever so black I’ll turn them into white or +yellow. Come, come, what a fool I am!” And so he jogged on, so occupied +with his thoughts and easy in his mind that he forgot all about the +hardship of travelling on foot. +</p> +<p> +Cardenio and the curate were watching all this from among some bushes, not +knowing how to join company with the others; but the curate, who was very +fertile in devices, soon hit upon a way of effecting their purpose, and +with a pair of scissors he had in a case he quickly cut off Cardenio’s +beard, and putting on him a grey jerkin of his own he gave him a black +cloak, leaving himself in his breeches and doublet, while Cardenio’s +appearance was so different from what it had been that he would not have +known himself had he seen himself in a mirror. Having effected this, +although the others had gone on ahead while they were disguising +themselves, they easily came out on the high road before them, for the +brambles and awkward places they encountered did not allow those on +horseback to go as fast as those on foot. They then posted themselves on +the level ground at the outlet of the Sierra, and as soon as Don Quixote +and his companions emerged from it the curate began to examine him very +deliberately, as though he were striving to recognise him, and after +having stared at him for some time he hastened towards him with open arms +exclaiming, “A happy meeting with the mirror of chivalry, my worthy +compatriot Don Quixote of La Mancha, the flower and cream of high +breeding, the protection and relief of the distressed, the quintessence of +knights-errant!” And so saying he clasped in his arms the knee of Don +Quixote’s left leg. He, astonished at the stranger’s words and behaviour, +looked at him attentively, and at length recognised him, very much +surprised to see him there, and made great efforts to dismount. This, +however, the curate would not allow, on which Don Quixote said, “Permit +me, señor licentiate, for it is not fitting that I should be on horseback +and so reverend a person as your worship on foot.” +</p> +<p> +“On no account will I allow it,” said the curate; “your mightiness must +remain on horseback, for it is on horseback you achieve the greatest deeds +and adventures that have been beheld in our age; as for me, an unworthy +priest, it will serve me well enough to mount on the haunches of one of +the mules of these gentlefolk who accompany your worship, if they have no +objection, and I will fancy I am mounted on the steed Pegasus, or on the +zebra or charger that bore the famous Moor, Muzaraque, who to this day +lies enchanted in the great hill of Zulema, a little distance from the +great Complutum.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor even that will I consent to, señor licentiate,” answered Don Quixote, +“and I know it will be the good pleasure of my lady the princess, out of +love for me, to order her squire to give up the saddle of his mule to your +worship, and he can sit behind if the beast will bear it.” +</p> +<p> +“It will, I am sure,” said the princess, “and I am sure, too, that I need +not order my squire, for he is too courteous and considerate to allow a +Churchman to go on foot when he might be mounted.” +</p> +<p> +“That he is,” said the barber, and at once alighting, he offered his +saddle to the curate, who accepted it without much entreaty; but +unfortunately as the barber was mounting behind, the mule, being as it +happened a hired one, which is the same thing as saying ill-conditioned, +lifted its hind hoofs and let fly a couple of kicks in the air, which +would have made Master Nicholas wish his expedition in quest of Don +Quixote at the devil had they caught him on the breast or head. As it was, +they so took him by surprise that he came to the ground, giving so little +heed to his beard that it fell off, and all he could do when he found +himself without it was to cover his face hastily with both his hands and +moan that his teeth were knocked out. Don Quixote when he saw all that +bundle of beard detached, without jaws or blood, from the face of the +fallen squire, exclaimed: +</p> +<p> +“By the living God, but this is a great miracle! it has knocked off and +plucked away the beard from his face as if it had been shaved off +designedly.” +</p> +<p> +The curate, seeing the danger of discovery that threatened his scheme, at +once pounced upon the beard and hastened with it to where Master Nicholas +lay, still uttering moans, and drawing his head to his breast had it on in +an instant, muttering over him some words which he said were a certain +special charm for sticking on beards, as they would see; and as soon as he +had it fixed he left him, and the squire appeared well bearded and whole +as before, whereat Don Quixote was beyond measure astonished, and begged +the curate to teach him that charm when he had an opportunity, as he was +persuaded its virtue must extend beyond the sticking on of beards, for it +was clear that where the beard had been stripped off the flesh must have +remained torn and lacerated, and when it could heal all that it must be +good for more than beards. +</p> +<p> +“And so it is,” said the curate, and he promised to teach it to him on the +first opportunity. They then agreed that for the present the curate should +mount, and that the three should ride by turns until they reached the inn, +which might be about six leagues from where they were. +</p> +<p> +Three then being mounted, that is to say, Don Quixote, the princess, and +the curate, and three on foot, Cardenio, the barber, and Sancho Panza, Don +Quixote said to the damsel: +</p> +<p> +“Let your highness, lady, lead on whithersoever is most pleasing to you;” +but before she could answer the licentiate said: +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c29d" id="c29d"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c29d.jpg (345K)" src="images/c29d.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c29d.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Towards what kingdom would your ladyship direct our course? Is it +perchance towards that of Micomicon? It must be, or else I know little +about kingdoms.” +</p> +<p> +She, being ready on all points, understood that she was to answer “Yes,” +so she said “Yes, señor, my way lies towards that kingdom.” +</p> +<p> +“In that case,” said the curate, “we must pass right through my village, +and there your worship will take the road to Cartagena, where you will be +able to embark, fortune favouring; and if the wind be fair and the sea +smooth and tranquil, in somewhat less than nine years you may come in +sight of the great lake Meona, I mean Meotides, which is little more than +a hundred days’ journey this side of your highness’s kingdom.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c29e" id="c29e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c29e.jpg (318K)" src="images/c29e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c29e.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Your worship is mistaken, señor,” said she; “for it is not two years +since I set out from it, and though I never had good weather, nevertheless +I am here to behold what I so longed for, and that is my lord Don Quixote +of La Mancha, whose fame came to my ears as soon as I set foot in Spain +and impelled me to go in search of him, to commend myself to his courtesy, +and entrust the justice of my cause to the might of his invincible arm.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough; no more praise,” said Don Quixote at this, “for I hate all +flattery; and though this may not be so, still language of the kind is +offensive to my chaste ears. I will only say, señora, that whether it has +might or not, that which it may or may not have shall be devoted to your +service even to death; and now, leaving this to its proper season, I would +ask the señor licentiate to tell me what it is that has brought him into +these parts, alone, unattended, and so lightly clad that I am filled with +amazement.” +</p> +<p> +“I will answer that briefly,” replied the curate; “you must know then, +Señor Don Quixote, that Master Nicholas, our friend and barber, and I were +going to Seville to receive some money that a relative of mine who went to +the Indies many years ago had sent me, and not such a small sum but that +it was over sixty thousand pieces of eight, full weight, which is +something; and passing by this place yesterday we were attacked by four +footpads, who stripped us even to our beards, and them they stripped off +so that the barber found it necessary to put on a false one, and even this +young man here”—pointing to Cardenio—“they completely +transformed. But the best of it is, the story goes in the neighbourhood +that those who attacked us belong to a number of galley slaves who, they +say, were set free almost on the very same spot by a man of such valour +that, in spite of the commissary and of the guards, he released the whole +of them; and beyond all doubt he must have been out of his senses, or he +must be as great a scoundrel as they, or some man without heart or +conscience to let the wolf loose among the sheep, the fox among the hens, +the fly among the honey. He has defrauded justice, and opposed his king +and lawful master, for he opposed his just commands; he has, I say, robbed +the galleys of their feet, stirred up the Holy Brotherhood which for many +years past has been quiet, and, lastly, has done a deed by which his soul +may be lost without any gain to his body.” Sancho had told the curate and +the barber of the adventure of the galley slaves, which, so much to his +glory, his master had achieved, and hence the curate in alluding to it +made the most of it to see what would be said or done by Don Quixote; who +changed colour at every word, not daring to say that it was he who had +been the liberator of those worthy people. “These, then,” said the curate, +“were they who robbed us; and God in his mercy pardon him who would not +let them go to the punishment they deserved.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c29f" id="c29f"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c29f.jpg (53K)" src="images/c29f.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c29f.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch30" id="ch30"></a>CHAPTER XXX. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE FAIR DOROTHEA, WITH OTHER MATTERS +PLEASANT AND AMUSING +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c30a" id="c30a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c30a.jpg (147K)" src="images/c30a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c30a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +The curate had hardly ceased speaking, when Sancho said, “In faith, then, +señor licentiate, he who did that deed was my master; and it was not for +want of my telling him beforehand and warning him to mind what he was +about, and that it was a sin to set them at liberty, as they were all on +the march there because they were special scoundrels.” +</p> +<p> +“Blockhead!” said Don Quixote at this, “it is no business or concern of +knights-errant to inquire whether any persons in affliction, in chains, or +oppressed that they may meet on the high roads go that way and suffer as +they do because of their faults or because of their misfortunes. It only +concerns them to aid them as persons in need of help, having regard to +their sufferings and not to their rascalities. I encountered a chaplet or +string of miserable and unfortunate people, and did for them what my sense +of duty demands of me, and as for the rest be that as it may; and whoever +takes objection to it, saving the sacred dignity of the señor licentiate +and his honoured person, I say he knows little about chivalry and lies +like a whoreson villain, and this I will give him to know to the fullest +extent with my sword;” and so saying he settled himself in his stirrups +and pressed down his morion; for the barber’s basin, which according to +him was Mambrino’s helmet, he carried hanging at the saddle-bow until he +could repair the damage done to it by the galley slaves. +</p> +<p> +Dorothea, who was shrewd and sprightly, and by this time thoroughly +understood Don Quixote’s crazy turn, and that all except Sancho Panza were +making game of him, not to be behind the rest said to him, on observing +his irritation, “Sir Knight, remember the boon you have promised me, and +that in accordance with it you must not engage in any other adventure, be +it ever so pressing; calm yourself, for if the licentiate had known that +the galley slaves had been set free by that unconquered arm he would have +stopped his mouth thrice over, or even bitten his tongue three times +before he would have said a word that tended towards disrespect of your +worship.” +</p> +<p> +“That I swear heartily,” said the curate, “and I would have even plucked +off a moustache.” +</p> +<p> +“I will hold my peace, señora,” said Don Quixote, “and I will curb the +natural anger that had arisen in my breast, and will proceed in peace and +quietness until I have fulfilled my promise; but in return for this +consideration I entreat you to tell me, if you have no objection to do so, +what is the nature of your trouble, and how many, who, and what are the +persons of whom I am to require due satisfaction, and on whom I am to take +vengeance on your behalf?” +</p> +<p> +“That I will do with all my heart,” replied Dorothea, “if it will not be +wearisome to you to hear of miseries and misfortunes.” +</p> +<p> +“It will not be wearisome, señora,” said Don Quixote; to which Dorothea +replied, “Well, if that be so, give me your attention.” As soon as she +said this, Cardenio and the barber drew close to her side, eager to hear +what sort of story the quick-witted Dorothea would invent for herself; and +Sancho did the same, for he was as much taken in by her as his master; and +she having settled herself comfortably in the saddle, and with the help of +coughing and other preliminaries taken time to think, began with great +sprightliness of manner in this fashion. +</p> +<p> +“First of all, I would have you know, sirs, that my name is-” and here she +stopped for a moment, for she forgot the name the curate had given her; +but he came to her relief, seeing what her difficulty was, and said, “It +is no wonder, señora, that your highness should be confused and +embarrassed in telling the tale of your misfortunes; for such afflictions +often have the effect of depriving the sufferers of memory, so that they +do not even remember their own names, as is the case now with your +ladyship, who has forgotten that she is called the Princess Micomicona, +lawful heiress of the great kingdom of Micomicon; and with this cue your +highness may now recall to your sorrowful recollection all you may wish to +tell us.” +</p> +<p> +“That is the truth,” said the damsel; “but I think from this on I shall +have no need of any prompting, and I shall bring my true story safe into +port, and here it is. The king my father, who was called Tinacrio the +Sapient, was very learned in what they call magic arts, and became aware +by his craft that my mother, who was called Queen Jaramilla, was to die +before he did, and that soon after he too was to depart this life, and I +was to be left an orphan without father or mother. But all this, he +declared, did not so much grieve or distress him as his certain knowledge +that a prodigious giant, the lord of a great island close to our kingdom, +Pandafilando of the Scowl by name—for it is averred that, though his eyes +are properly placed and straight, he always looks askew as if he squinted, +and this he does out of malignity, to strike fear and terror into those he +looks at—that he knew, I say, that this giant on becoming aware of my +orphan condition would overrun my kingdom with a mighty force and strip me +of all, not leaving me even a small village to shelter me; but that I +could avoid all this ruin and misfortune if I were willing to marry him; +however, as far as he could see, he never expected that I would consent to +a marriage so unequal; and he said no more than the truth in this, for it +has never entered my mind to marry that giant, or any other, let him be +ever so great or enormous. My father said, too, that when he was dead, and +I saw Pandafilando about to invade my kingdom, I was not to wait and +attempt to defend myself, for that would be destructive to me, but that I +should leave the kingdom entirely open to him if I wished to avoid the +death and total destruction of my good and loyal vassals, for there would +be no possibility of defending myself against the giant’s devilish power; +and that I should at once with some of my followers set out for Spain, +where I should obtain relief in my distress on finding a certain +knight-errant whose fame by that time would extend over the whole kingdom, +and who would be called, if I remember rightly, Don Azote or Don Gigote.” +</p> +<p> +“‘Don Quixote,’ he must have said, señora,” observed Sancho at this, +“otherwise called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.” +</p> +<p> +“That is it,” said Dorothea; “he said, moreover, that he would be tall of +stature and lank featured; and that on his right side under the left +shoulder, or thereabouts, he would have a grey mole with hairs like +bristles.” +</p> +<p> +On hearing this, Don Quixote said to his squire, “Here, Sancho my son, +bear a hand and help me to strip, for I want to see if I am the knight +that sage king foretold.” +</p> +<p> +“What does your worship want to strip for?” said Dorothea. +</p> +<p> +“To see if I have that mole your father spoke of,” answered Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“There is no occasion to strip,” said Sancho; “for I know your worship has +just such a mole on the middle of your backbone, which is the mark of a +strong man.” +</p> +<p> +“That is enough,” said Dorothea, “for with friends we must not look too +closely into trifles; and whether it be on the shoulder or on the backbone +matters little; it is enough if there is a mole, be it where it may, for +it is all the same flesh; no doubt my good father hit the truth in every +particular, and I have made a lucky hit in commending myself to Don +Quixote; for he is the one my father spoke of, as the features of his +countenance correspond with those assigned to this knight by that wide +fame he has acquired not only in Spain but in all La Mancha; for I had +scarcely landed at Osuna when I heard such accounts of his achievements, +that at once my heart told me he was the very one I had come in search +of.” +</p> +<p> +“But how did you land at Osuna, señora,” asked Don Quixote, “when it is +not a seaport?” +</p> +<p> +But before Dorothea could reply the curate anticipated her, saying, “The +princess meant to say that after she had landed at Malaga the first place +where she heard of your worship was Osuna.” +</p> +<p> +“That is what I meant to say,” said Dorothea. +</p> +<p> +“And that would be only natural,” said the curate. “Will your majesty +please proceed?” +</p> +<p> +“There is no more to add,” said Dorothea, “save that in finding Don +Quixote I have had such good fortune, that I already reckon and regard +myself queen and mistress of my entire dominions, since of his courtesy +and magnanimity he has granted me the boon of accompanying me +whithersoever I may conduct him, which will be only to bring him face to +face with Pandafilando of the Scowl, that he may slay him and restore to +me what has been unjustly usurped by him: for all this must come to pass +satisfactorily since my good father Tinacrio the Sapient foretold it, who +likewise left it declared in writing in Chaldee or Greek characters (for I +cannot read them), that if this predicted knight, after having cut the +giant’s throat, should be disposed to marry me I was to offer myself at +once without demur as his lawful wife, and yield him possession of my +kingdom together with my person.” +</p> +<p> +“What thinkest thou now, friend Sancho?” said Don Quixote at this. +“Hearest thou that? Did I not tell thee so? See how we have already got a +kingdom to govern and a queen to marry!” +</p> +<p> +“On my oath it is so,” said Sancho; “and foul fortune to him who won’t +marry after slitting Señor Pandahilado’s windpipe! And then, how +illfavoured the queen is! I wish the fleas in my bed were that sort!” +</p> +<p> +And so saying he cut a couple of capers in the air with every sign of +extreme satisfaction, and then ran to seize the bridle of Dorothea’s mule, +and checking it fell on his knees before her, begging her to give him her +hand to kiss in token of his acknowledgment of her as his queen and +mistress. Which of the bystanders could have helped laughing to see the +madness of the master and the simplicity of the servant? Dorothea +therefore gave her hand, and promised to make him a great lord in her +kingdom, when Heaven should be so good as to permit her to recover and +enjoy it, for which Sancho returned thanks in words that set them all +laughing again. +</p> +<p> +“This, sirs,” continued Dorothea, “is my story; it only remains to tell +you that of all the attendants I took with me from my kingdom I have none +left except this well-bearded squire, for all were drowned in a great +tempest we encountered when in sight of port; and he and I came to land on +a couple of planks as if by a miracle; and indeed the whole course of my +life is a miracle and a mystery as you may have observed; and if I have +been over minute in any respect or not as precise as I ought, let it be +accounted for by what the licentiate said at the beginning of my tale, +that constant and excessive troubles deprive the sufferers of their +memory.” +</p> +<p> +“They shall not deprive me of mine, exalted and worthy princess,” said Don +Quixote, “however great and unexampled those which I shall endure in your +service may be; and here I confirm anew the boon I have promised you, and +I swear to go with you to the end of the world until I find myself in the +presence of your fierce enemy, whose haughty head I trust by the aid of my +arm to cut off with the edge of this—I will not say good sword, thanks to +Gines de Pasamonte who carried away mine"—(this he said between his +teeth, and then continued), “and when it has been cut off and you have +been put in peaceful possession of your realm it shall be left to your own +decision to dispose of your person as may be most pleasing to you; for so +long as my memory is occupied, my will enslaved, and my understanding +enthralled by her—I say no more—it is impossible for me for a moment to +contemplate marriage, even with a Phoenix.” +</p> +<p> +The last words of his master about not wanting to marry were so +disagreeable to Sancho that raising his voice he exclaimed with great +irritation: +</p> +<p> +“By my oath, Señor Don Quixote, you are not in your right senses; for how +can your worship possibly object to marrying such an exalted princess as +this? Do you think Fortune will offer you behind every stone such a piece +of luck as is offered you now? Is my lady Dulcinea fairer, perchance? Not +she; nor half as fair; and I will even go so far as to say she does not +come up to the shoe of this one here. A poor chance I have of getting that +county I am waiting for if your worship goes looking for dainties in the +bottom of the sea. In the devil’s name, marry, marry, and take this +kingdom that comes to hand without any trouble, and when you are king make +me a marquis or governor of a province, and for the rest let the devil +take it all.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote, when he heard such blasphemies uttered against his lady +Dulcinea, could not endure it, and lifting his pike, without saying +anything to Sancho or uttering a word, he gave him two such thwacks that +he brought him to the ground; and had it not been that Dorothea cried out +to him to spare him he would have no doubt taken his life on the spot. +</p> +<p> +“Do you think,” he said to him after a pause, “you scurvy clown, that you +are to be always interfering with me, and that you are to be always +offending and I always pardoning? Don’t fancy it, impious scoundrel, for +that beyond a doubt thou art, since thou hast set thy tongue going against +the peerless Dulcinea. Know you not, lout, vagabond, beggar, that were it +not for the might that she infuses into my arm I should not have strength +enough to kill a flea? Say, scoffer with a viper’s tongue, what think you +has won this kingdom and cut off this giant’s head and made you a marquis +(for all this I count as already accomplished and decided), but the might +of Dulcinea, employing my arm as the instrument of her achievements? She +fights in me and conquers in me, and I live and breathe in her, and owe my +life and being to her. O whoreson scoundrel, how ungrateful you are, you +see yourself raised from the dust of the earth to be a titled lord, and +the return you make for so great a benefit is to speak evil of her who has +conferred it upon you!” +</p> +<p> +Sancho was not so stunned but that he heard all his master said, and +rising with some degree of nimbleness he ran to place himself behind +Dorothea’s palfrey, and from that position he said to his master: +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, señor; if your worship is resolved not to marry this great +princess, it is plain the kingdom will not be yours; and not being so, how +can you bestow favours upon me? That is what I complain of. Let your +worship at any rate marry this queen, now that we have got her here as if +showered down from heaven, and afterwards you may go back to my lady +Dulcinea; for there must have been kings in the world who kept mistresses. +As to beauty, I have nothing to do with it; and if the truth is to be +told, I like them both; though I have never seen the lady Dulcinea.” +</p> +<p> +“How! never seen her, blasphemous traitor!” exclaimed Don Quixote; “hast +thou not just now brought me a message from her?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean,” said Sancho, “that I did not see her so much at my leisure that +I could take particular notice of her beauty, or of her charms piecemeal; +but taken in the lump I like her.” +</p> +<p> +“Now I forgive thee,” said Don Quixote; “and do thou forgive me the injury +I have done thee; for our first impulses are not in our control.” +</p> +<p> +“That I see,” replied Sancho, “and with me the wish to speak is always the +first impulse, and I cannot help saying, once at any rate, what I have on +the tip of my tongue.” +</p> +<p> +“For all that, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “take heed of what thou sayest, +for the pitcher goes so often to the well—I need say no more to thee.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, well,” said Sancho, “God is in heaven, and sees all tricks, and +will judge who does most harm, I in not speaking right, or your worship in +not doing it.” +</p> +<p> +“That is enough,” said Dorothea; “run, Sancho, and kiss your lord’s hand +and beg his pardon, and henceforward be more circumspect with your praise +and abuse; and say nothing in disparagement of that lady Toboso, of whom I +know nothing save that I am her servant; and put your trust in God, for +you will not fail to obtain some dignity so as to live like a prince.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho advanced hanging his head and begged his master’s hand, which Don +Quixote with dignity presented to him, giving him his blessing as soon as +he had kissed it; he then bade him go on ahead a little, as he had +questions to ask him and matters of great importance to discuss with him. +Sancho obeyed, and when the two had gone some distance in advance Don +Quixote said to him, “Since thy return I have had no opportunity or time +to ask thee many particulars touching thy mission and the answer thou hast +brought back, and now that chance has granted us the time and opportunity, +deny me not the happiness thou canst give me by such good news.” +</p> +<p> +“Let your worship ask what you will,” answered Sancho, “for I shall find a +way out of all as I found a way in; but I implore you, señor, not +to be so revengeful in future.” +</p> +<p> +“Why dost thou say that, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“I say it,” he returned, “because those blows just now were more because +of the quarrel the devil stirred up between us both the other night, than +for what I said against my lady Dulcinea, whom I love and reverence as I +would a relic—though there is nothing of that about her—merely as +something belonging to your worship.” +</p> +<p> +“Say no more on that subject for thy life, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for +it is displeasing to me; I have already pardoned thee for that, and thou +knowest the common saying, ‘for a fresh sin a fresh penance.’” +</p> +<p> +While this was going on they saw coming along the road they were following +a man mounted on an ass, who when he came close seemed to be a gipsy; but +Sancho Panza, whose eyes and heart were there wherever he saw asses, no +sooner beheld the man than he knew him to be Gines de Pasamonte; and by +the thread of the gipsy he got at the ball, his ass, for it was, in fact, +Dapple that carried Pasamonte, who to escape recognition and to sell the +ass had disguised himself as a gipsy, being able to speak the gipsy +language, and many more, as well as if they were his own. Sancho saw him +and recognised him, and the instant he did so he shouted to him, +“Ginesillo, you thief, give up my treasure, release my life, embarrass +thyself not with my repose, quit my ass, leave my delight, be off, rip, +get thee gone, thief, and give up what is not thine.” +</p> +<p> +There was no necessity for so many words or objurgations, for at the first +one Gines jumped down, and at a like racing speed made off and got clear +of them all. Sancho hastened to his Dapple, and embracing him he said, +“How hast thou fared, my blessing, Dapple of my eyes, my comrade?” all the +while kissing him and caressing him as if he were a human being. The ass +held his peace, and let himself be kissed and caressed by Sancho without +answering a single word. They all came up and congratulated him on having +found Dapple, Don Quixote especially, who told him that notwithstanding +this he would not cancel the order for the three ass-colts, for which +Sancho thanked him. +</p> +<p> +While the two had been going along conversing in this fashion, the curate +observed to Dorothea that she had shown great cleverness, as well in the +story itself as in its conciseness, and the resemblance it bore to those +of the books of chivalry. She said that she had many times amused herself +reading them; but that she did not know the situation of the provinces or +seaports, and so she had said at haphazard that she had landed at Osuna. +</p> +<p> +“So I saw,” said the curate, “and for that reason I made haste to say what +I did, by which it was all set right. But is it not a strange thing to see +how readily this unhappy gentleman believes all these figments and lies, +simply because they are in the style and manner of the absurdities of his +books?” +</p> +<p> +“So it is,” said Cardenio; “and so uncommon and unexampled, that were one +to attempt to invent and concoct it in fiction, I doubt if there be any +wit keen enough to imagine it.” +</p> +<p> +“But another strange thing about it,” said the curate, “is that, apart +from the silly things which this worthy gentleman says in connection with +his craze, when other subjects are dealt with, he can discuss them in a +perfectly rational manner, showing that his mind is quite clear and +composed; so that, provided his chivalry is not touched upon, no one would +take him to be anything but a man of thoroughly sound understanding.” +</p> +<p> +While they were holding this conversation Don Quixote continued his with +Sancho, saying: +</p> +<p> +“Friend Panza, let us forgive and forget as to our quarrels, and tell me +now, dismissing anger and irritation, where, how, and when didst thou find +Dulcinea? What was she doing? What didst thou say to her? What did she +answer? How did she look when she was reading my letter? Who copied it out +for thee? and everything in the matter that seems to thee worth knowing, +asking, and learning; neither adding nor falsifying to give me pleasure, +nor yet curtailing lest you should deprive me of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Señor,” replied Sancho, “if the truth is to be told, nobody copied out +the letter for me, for I carried no letter at all.” +</p> +<p> +“It is as thou sayest,” said Don Quixote, “for the note-book in which I +wrote it I found in my own possession two days after thy departure, which +gave me very great vexation, as I knew not what thou wouldst do on finding +thyself without any letter; and I made sure thou wouldst return from the +place where thou didst first miss it.” +</p> +<p> +“So I should have done,” said Sancho, “if I had not got it by heart when +your worship read it to me, so that I repeated it to a sacristan, who +copied it out for me from hearing it, so exactly that he said in all the +days of his life, though he had read many a letter of excommunication, he +had never seen or read so pretty a letter as that.” +</p> +<p> +“And hast thou got it still in thy memory, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“No, señor,” replied Sancho, “for as soon as I had repeated +it, seeing there was no further use for it, I set about forgetting it; and if I +recollect any of it, it is that about ‘Scrubbing,’ I mean to say +‘Sovereign Lady,’ and the end ‘Yours till death, the Knight +of the Rueful Countenance;’ and between these two I put into it more than +three hundred ‘my souls’ and ‘my life’s’ and +‘my eyes.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c30e" id="c30e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c30e.jpg (13K)" src="images/c30e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch31" id="ch31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE DELECTABLE DISCUSSION BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA, HIS +SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c31a" id="c31a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c31a.jpg (151K)" src="images/c31a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c31a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“All that is not unsatisfactory to me,” said Don Quixote. “Go on; thou +didst reach her; and what was that queen of beauty doing? Surely thou +didst find her stringing pearls, or embroidering some device in gold +thread for this her enslaved knight.” +</p> +<p> +“I did not,” said Sancho, “but I found her winnowing two bushels of wheat +in the yard of her house.” +</p> +<p> +“Then depend upon it,” said Don Quixote, “the grains of that wheat were +pearls when touched by her hands; and didst thou look, friend? was it +white wheat or brown?” +</p> +<p> +“It was neither, but red,” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“Then I promise thee,” said Don Quixote, “that, winnowed by her hands, +beyond a doubt the bread it made was of the whitest; but go on; when thou +gavest her my letter, did she kiss it? Did she place it on her head? Did +she perform any ceremony befitting it, or what did she do?” +</p> +<p> +“When I went to give it to her,” replied Sancho, “she was hard at it +swaying from side to side with a lot of wheat she had in the sieve, and +she said to me, ‘Lay the letter, friend, on the top of that sack, for I +cannot read it until I have done sifting all this.” +</p> +<p> +“Discreet lady!” said Don Quixote; “that was in order to read it at her +leisure and enjoy it; proceed, Sancho; while she was engaged in her +occupation what converse did she hold with thee? What did she ask about +me, and what answer didst thou give? Make haste; tell me all, and let not +an atom be left behind in the ink-bottle.” +</p> +<p> +“She asked me nothing,” said Sancho; “but I told her how your worship was +left doing penance in her service, naked from the waist up, in among these +mountains like a savage, sleeping on the ground, not eating bread off a +tablecloth nor combing your beard, weeping and cursing your fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“In saying I cursed my fortune thou saidst wrong,” said Don Quixote; “for +rather do I bless it and shall bless it all the days of my life for having +made me worthy of aspiring to love so lofty a lady as Dulcinea del +Toboso.” +</p> +<p> +“And so lofty she is,” said Sancho, “that she overtops me by more than a +hand’s-breadth.” +</p> +<p> +“What! Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “didst thou measure with her?” +</p> +<p> +“I measured in this way,” said Sancho; “going to help her to put a sack of +wheat on the back of an ass, we came so close together that I could see +she stood more than a good palm over me.” +</p> +<p> +“Well!” said Don Quixote, “and doth she not of a truth accompany and adorn +this greatness with a thousand million charms of mind! But one thing thou +wilt not deny, Sancho; when thou camest close to her didst thou not +perceive a Sabaean odour, an aromatic fragrance, a, I know not what, +delicious, that I cannot find a name for; I mean a redolence, an +exhalation, as if thou wert in the shop of some dainty glover?” +</p> +<p> +“All I can say is,” said Sancho, “that I did perceive a little odour, +something goaty; it must have been that she was all in a sweat with hard +work.” +</p> +<p> +“It could not be that,” said Don Quixote, “but thou must have been +suffering from cold in the head, or must have smelt thyself; for I know +well what would be the scent of that rose among thorns, that lily of the +field, that dissolved amber.” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe so,” replied Sancho; “there often comes from myself that same odour +which then seemed to me to come from her grace the lady Dulcinea; but +that’s no wonder, for one devil is like another.” +</p> +<p> +“Well then,” continued Don Quixote, “now she has done sifting the corn and +sent it to the mill; what did she do when she read the letter?” +</p> +<p> +“As for the letter,” said Sancho, “she did not read it, for she said she +could neither read nor write; instead of that she tore it up into small +pieces, saying that she did not want to let anyone read it lest her +secrets should become known in the village, and that what I had told her +by word of mouth about the love your worship bore her, and the +extraordinary penance you were doing for her sake, was enough; and, to +make an end of it, she told me to tell your worship that she kissed your +hands, and that she had a greater desire to see you than to write to you; +and that therefore she entreated and commanded you, on sight of this +present, to come out of these thickets, and to have done with carrying on +absurdities, and to set out at once for El Toboso, unless something else +of greater importance should happen, for she had a great desire to see +your worship. She laughed greatly when I told her how your worship was +called The Knight of the Rueful Countenance; I asked her if that Biscayan +the other day had been there; and she told me he had, and that he was an +honest fellow; I asked her too about the galley slaves, but she said she +had not seen any as yet.” +</p> +<p> +“So far all goes well,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me what jewel was it +that she gave thee on taking thy leave, in return for thy tidings of me? +For it is a usual and ancient custom with knights and ladies errant to +give the squires, damsels, or dwarfs who bring tidings of their ladies to +the knights, or of their knights to the ladies, some rich jewel as a +guerdon for good news,’ and acknowledgment of the message.” +</p> +<p> +“That is very likely,” said Sancho, “and a good custom it was, to my mind; +but that must have been in days gone by, for now it would seem to be the +custom only to give a piece of bread and cheese; because that was what my +lady Dulcinea gave me over the top of the yard-wall when I took leave of +her; and more by token it was sheep’s-milk cheese.” +</p> +<p> +“She is generous in the extreme,” said Don Quixote, “and if she did not +give thee a jewel of gold, no doubt it must have been because she had not +one to hand there to give thee; but sleeves are good after Easter; I shall +see her and all shall be made right. But knowest thou what amazes me, +Sancho? It seems to me thou must have gone and come through the air, for +thou hast taken but little more than three days to go to El Toboso and +return, though it is more than thirty leagues from here to there. From +which I am inclined to think that the sage magician who is my friend, and +watches over my interests (for of necessity there is and must be one, or +else I should not be a right knight-errant), that this same, I say, must +have helped thee to travel without thy knowledge; for some of these sages +will catch up a knight-errant sleeping in his bed, and without his knowing +how or in what way it happened, he wakes up the next day more than a +thousand leagues away from the place where he went to sleep. And if it +were not for this, knights-errant would not be able to give aid to one +another in peril, as they do at every turn. For a knight, maybe, is +fighting in the mountains of Armenia with some dragon, or fierce serpent, +or another knight, and gets the worst of the battle, and is at the point +of death; but when he least looks for it, there appears over against him +on a cloud, or chariot of fire, another knight, a friend of his, who just +before had been in England, and who takes his part, and delivers him from +death; and at night he finds himself in his own quarters supping very much +to his satisfaction; and yet from one place to the other will have been +two or three thousand leagues. And all this is done by the craft and skill +of the sage enchanters who take care of those valiant knights; so that, +friend Sancho, I find no difficulty in believing that thou mayest have +gone from this place to El Toboso and returned in such a short time, +since, as I have said, some friendly sage must have carried thee through +the air without thee perceiving it.” +</p> +<p> +“That must have been it,” said Sancho, “for indeed Rocinante went like a +gipsy’s ass with quicksilver in his ears.” +</p> +<p> +“Quicksilver!” said Don Quixote, “aye and what is more, a legion of +devils, folk that can travel and make others travel without being weary, +exactly as the whim seizes them. But putting this aside, what thinkest +thou I ought to do about my lady’s command to go and see her? For though I +feel that I am bound to obey her mandate, I feel too that I am debarred by +the boon I have accorded to the princess that accompanies us, and the law +of chivalry compels me to have regard for my word in preference to my +inclination; on the one hand the desire to see my lady pursues and +harasses me, on the other my solemn promise and the glory I shall win in +this enterprise urge and call me; but what I think I shall do is to travel +with all speed and reach quickly the place where this giant is, and on my +arrival I shall cut off his head, and establish the princess peacefully in +her realm, and forthwith I shall return to behold the light that lightens +my senses, to whom I shall make such excuses that she will be led to +approve of my delay, for she will see that it entirely tends to increase +her glory and fame; for all that I have won, am winning, or shall win by +arms in this life, comes to me of the favour she extends to me, and +because I am hers.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! what a sad state your worship’s brains are in!” said Sancho. “Tell +me, señor, do you mean to travel all that way for nothing, and to let slip +and lose so rich and great a match as this where they give as a portion a +kingdom that in sober truth I have heard say is more than twenty thousand +leagues round about, and abounds with all things necessary to support +human life, and is bigger than Portugal and Castile put together? Peace, +for the love of God! Blush for what you have said, and take my advice, and +forgive me, and marry at once in the first village where there is a +curate; if not, here is our licentiate who will do the business +beautifully; remember, I am old enough to give advice, and this I am +giving comes pat to the purpose; for a sparrow in the hand is better than +a vulture on the wing, and he who has the good to his hand and chooses the +bad, that the good he complains of may not come to him.” +</p> +<p> +“Look here, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “If thou art advising me to marry, +in order that immediately on slaying the giant I may become king, and be +able to confer favours on thee, and give thee what I have promised, let me +tell thee I shall be able very easily to satisfy thy desires without +marrying; for before going into battle I will make it a stipulation that, +if I come out of it victorious, even I do not marry, they shall give me a +portion of the kingdom, that I may bestow it upon whomsoever I +choose, and when they give it to me upon whom wouldst thou have me bestow +it but upon thee?” +</p> +<p> +“That is plain speaking,” said Sancho; “but let your worship take care to +choose it on the seacoast, so that if I don’t like the life, I may be able +to ship off my black vassals and deal with them as I have said; don’t mind +going to see my lady Dulcinea now, but go and kill this giant and let us +finish off this business; for by God it strikes me it will be one of great +honour and great profit.” +</p> +<p> +“I hold thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and I +will take thy advice as to accompanying the princess before going to see +Dulcinea; but I counsel thee not to say anything to any one, or to those +who are with us, about what we have considered and discussed, for as +Dulcinea is so decorous that she does not wish her thoughts to be known it +is not right that I or anyone for me should disclose them.” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, if that be so,” said Sancho, “how is it that your worship +makes all those you overcome by your arm go to present themselves before +my lady Dulcinea, this being the same thing as signing your name to it +that you love her and are her lover? And as those who go must perforce +kneel before her and say they come from your worship to submit themselves +to her, how can the thoughts of both of you be hid?” +</p> +<p> +“O, how silly and simple thou art!” said Don Quixote; “seest thou not, +Sancho, that this tends to her greater exaltation? For thou must know that +according to our way of thinking in chivalry, it is a high honour to a +lady to have many knights-errant in her service, whose thoughts never go +beyond serving her for her own sake, and who look for no other reward for +their great and true devotion than that she should be willing to accept +them as her knights.” +</p> +<p> +“It is with that kind of love,” said Sancho, “I have heard preachers say +we ought to love our Lord, for himself alone, without being moved by the +hope of glory or the fear of punishment; though for my part, I would +rather love and serve him for what he could do.” +</p> +<p> +“The devil take thee for a clown!” said Don Quixote, “and what shrewd +things thou sayest at times! One would think thou hadst studied.” +</p> +<p> +“In faith, then, I cannot even read.” +</p> +<p> +Master Nicholas here called out to them to wait a while, as they wanted to +halt and drink at a little spring there was there. Don Quixote drew up, +not a little to the satisfaction of Sancho, for he was by this time weary +of telling so many lies, and in dread of his master catching him tripping, +for though he knew that Dulcinea was a peasant girl of El Toboso, he had +never seen her in all his life. Cardenio had now put on the clothes which +Dorothea was wearing when they found her, and though they were not very +good, they were far better than those he put off. They dismounted together +by the side of the spring, and with what the curate had provided himself +with at the inn they appeased, though not very well, the keen appetite +they all of them brought with them. +</p> +<p> +While they were so employed there happened to come by a youth passing on +his way, who stopping to examine the party at the spring, the next moment +ran to Don Quixote and clasping him round the legs, began to weep freely, +saying, “O, señor, do you not know me? Look at me well; I am that lad +Andres that your worship released from the oak-tree where I was tied.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote recognised him, and taking his hand he turned to those present +and said: “That your worships may see how important it is to have +knights-errant to redress the wrongs and injuries done by tyrannical and +wicked men in this world, I may tell you that some days ago passing +through a wood, I heard cries and piteous complaints as of a person in +pain and distress; I immediately hastened, impelled by my bounden duty, to +the quarter whence the plaintive accents seemed to me to proceed, and I +found tied to an oak this lad who now stands before you, which in my heart +I rejoice at, for his testimony will not permit me to depart from the +truth in any particular. He was, I say, tied to an oak, naked from the +waist up, and a clown, whom I afterwards found to be his master, was +scarifying him by lashes with the reins of his mare. As soon as I saw him +I asked the reason of so cruel a flagellation. The boor replied that he +was flogging him because he was his servant and because of carelessness +that proceeded rather from dishonesty than stupidity; on which this boy +said, ‘Señor, he flogs me only because I ask for my wages.’ The master +made I know not what speeches and explanations, which, though I listened +to them, I did not accept. In short, I compelled the clown to unbind him, +and to swear he would take him with him, and pay him real by real, and +perfumed into the bargain. Is not all this true, Andres my son? Didst thou +not mark with what authority I commanded him, and with what humility he +promised to do all I enjoined, specified, and required of him? Answer +without hesitation; tell these gentlemen what took place, that they may +see that it is as great an advantage as I say to have knights-errant +abroad.” +</p> +<p> +“All that your worship has said is quite true,” answered the lad; “but the +end of the business turned out just the opposite of what your worship +supposes.” +</p> +<p> +“How! the opposite?” said Don Quixote; “did not the clown pay thee then?” +</p> +<p> +“Not only did he not pay me,” replied the lad, “but as soon as your +worship had passed out of the wood and we were alone, he tied me up again +to the same oak and gave me a fresh flogging, that left me like a flayed +Saint Bartholomew; and every stroke he gave me he followed up with some +jest or gibe about having made a fool of your worship, and but for the +pain I was suffering I should have laughed at the things he said. In short +he left me in such a condition that I have been until now in a hospital +getting cured of the injuries which that rascally clown inflicted on me +then; for all which your worship is to blame; for if you had gone your own +way and not come where there was no call for you, nor meddled in other +people’s affairs, my master would have been content with giving me one or +two dozen lashes, and would have then loosed me and paid me what he owed +me; but when your worship abused him so out of measure, and gave him so +many hard words, his anger was kindled; and as he could not revenge +himself on you, as soon as he saw you had left him the storm burst upon me +in such a way, that I feel as if I should never be a man again.” +</p> +<p> +“The mischief,” said Don Quixote, “lay in my going away; for I should not +have gone until I had seen thee paid; because I ought to have known well +by long experience that there is no clown who will keep his word if he +finds it will not suit him to keep it; but thou rememberest, Andres, that +I swore if he did not pay thee I would go and seek him, and find him +though he were to hide himself in the whale’s belly.” +</p> +<p> +“That is true,” said Andres; “but it was of no use.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou shalt see now whether it is of use or not,” said Don Quixote; and so +saying, he got up hastily and bade Sancho bridle Rocinante, who was +browsing while they were eating. Dorothea asked him what he meant to do. +He replied that he meant to go in search of this clown and chastise him +for such iniquitous conduct, and see Andres paid to the last maravedi, +despite and in the teeth of all the clowns in the world. To which she +replied that he must remember that in accordance with his promise he could +not engage in any enterprise until he had concluded hers; and that as he +knew this better than anyone, he should restrain his ardour until his +return from her kingdom. +</p> +<p> +“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “and Andres must have patience until my +return as you say, señora; but I once more swear and promise not to stop +until I have seen him avenged and paid.” +</p> +<p> +“I have no faith in those oaths,” said Andres; “I would rather have now +something to help me to get to Seville than all the revenges in the world; +if you have here anything to eat that I can take with me, give it me, and +God be with your worship and all knights-errant; and may their errands +turn out as well for themselves as they have for me.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho took out from his store a piece of bread and another of cheese, and +giving them to the lad he said, “Here, take this, brother Andres, for we +have all of us a share in your misfortune.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, what share have you got?” +</p> +<p> +“This share of bread and cheese I am giving you,” answered Sancho; “and +God knows whether I shall feel the want of it myself or not; for I would +have you know, friend, that we squires to knights-errant have to bear a +great deal of hunger and hard fortune, and even other things more easily +felt than told.” +</p> +<p> +Andres seized his bread and cheese, and seeing that nobody gave him +anything more, bent his head, and took hold of the road, as the saying is. +However, before leaving he said, “For the love of God, sir knight-errant, +if you ever meet me again, though you may see them cutting me to pieces, +give me no aid or succour, but leave me to my misfortune, which will not +be so great but that a greater will come to me by being helped by your +worship, on whom and all the knights-errant that have ever been born God +send his curse.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote was getting up to chastise him, but he took to his heels at +such a pace that no one attempted to follow him; and mightily chapfallen +was Don Quixote at Andres’ story, and the others had to take great care to +restrain their laughter so as not to put him entirely out of countenance. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c31e" id="c31e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c31e.jpg (32K)" src="images/c31e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch32" id="ch32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE’S PARTY AT THE INN +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c32a" id="c32a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c32a.jpg (132K)" src="images/c32a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c32a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Their dainty repast being finished, they saddled at once, and without any +adventure worth mentioning they reached next day the inn, the object of +Sancho Panza’s fear and dread; but though he would have rather not entered +it, there was no help for it. The landlady, the landlord, their daughter, +and Maritornes, when they saw Don Quixote and Sancho coming, went out to +welcome them with signs of hearty satisfaction, which Don Quixote received +with dignity and gravity, and bade them make up a better bed for him than +the last time: to which the landlady replied that if he paid better than +he did the last time she would give him one fit for a prince. Don Quixote +said he would, so they made up a tolerable one for him in the same garret +as before; and he lay down at once, being sorely shaken and in want of +sleep. +</p> +<p> +No sooner was the door shut upon him than the landlady made at the barber, +and seizing him by the beard, said: +</p> +<p> +“By my faith you are not going to make a beard of my tail any longer; you +must give me back my tail, for it is a shame the way that thing of my +husband’s goes tossing about on the floor; I mean the comb that I used to +stick in my good tail.” +</p> +<p> +But for all she tugged at it the barber would not give it up until the +licentiate told him to let her have it, as there was now no further +occasion for that stratagem, because he might declare himself and appear +in his own character, and tell Don Quixote that he had fled to this inn +when those thieves the galley slaves robbed him; and should he ask for the +princess’s squire, they could tell him that she had sent him on before her +to give notice to the people of her kingdom that she was coming, and +bringing with her the deliverer of them all. On this the barber cheerfully +restored the tail to the landlady, and at the same time they returned all +the accessories they had borrowed to effect Don Quixote’s deliverance. All +the people of the inn were struck with astonishment at the beauty of +Dorothea, and even at the comely figure of the shepherd Cardenio. The +curate made them get ready such fare as there was in the inn, and the +landlord, in hope of better payment, served them up a tolerably good +dinner. All this time Don Quixote was asleep, and they thought it best not +to waken him, as sleeping would now do him more good than eating. +</p> +<p> +While at dinner, the company consisting of the landlord, his wife, their +daughter, Maritornes, and all the travellers, they discussed the strange +craze of Don Quixote and the manner in which he had been found; and the +landlady told them what had taken place between him and the carrier; and +then, looking round to see if Sancho was there, when she saw he was not, +she gave them the whole story of his blanketing, which they received with +no little amusement. But on the curate observing that it was the books of +chivalry which Don Quixote had read that had turned his brain, the +landlord said: +</p> +<p> +“I cannot understand how that can be, for in truth to my mind there is no +better reading in the world, and I have here two or three of them, with +other writings that are the very life, not only of myself but of plenty +more; for when it is harvest-time, the reapers flock here on holidays, and +there is always one among them who can read and who takes up one of these +books, and we gather round him, thirty or more of us, and stay listening +to him with a delight that makes our grey hairs grow young again. At least +I can say for myself that when I hear of what furious and terrible blows +the knights deliver, I am seized with the longing to do the same, and I +would like to be hearing about them night and day.” +</p> +<p> +“And I just as much,” said the landlady, “because I never have a quiet +moment in my house except when you are listening to some one reading; for +then you are so taken up that for the time being you forget to scold.” +</p> +<p> +“That is true,” said Maritornes; “and, faith, I relish hearing these +things greatly too, for they are very pretty; especially when they +describe some lady or another in the arms of her knight under the orange +trees, and the duenna who is keeping watch for them half dead with envy +and fright; all this I say is as good as honey.” +</p> +<p> +“And you, what do you think, young lady?” said the curate turning to the +landlord’s daughter. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know indeed, señor,” said she; “I listen too, and to tell the +truth, though I do not understand it, I like hearing it; but it is not the +blows that my father likes that I like, but the laments the knights utter +when they are separated from their ladies; and indeed they sometimes make +me weep with the pity I feel for them.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you would console them if it was for you they wept, young lady?” +said Dorothea. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know what I should do,” said the girl; “I only know that there +are some of those ladies so cruel that they call their knights tigers and +lions and a thousand other foul names: and Jesus! I don’t know what sort +of folk they can be, so unfeeling and heartless, that rather than bestow a +glance upon a worthy man they leave him to die or go mad. I don’t know +what is the good of such prudery; if it is for honour’s sake, why not +marry them? That’s all they want.” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, child,” said the landlady; “it seems to me thou knowest a great +deal about these things, and it is not fit for girls to know or talk so +much.” +</p> +<p> +“As the gentleman asked me, I could not help answering him,” said the +girl. +</p> +<p> +“Well then,” said the curate, “bring me these books, señor landlord, for I +should like to see them.” +</p> +<p> +“With all my heart,” said he, and going into his own room he brought out +an old valise secured with a little chain, on opening which the curate +found in it three large books and some manuscripts written in a very good +hand. The first that he opened he found to be “Don Cirongilio of Thrace,” +and the second “Don Felixmarte of Hircania,” and the other the “History of +the Great Captain Gonzalo Hernandez de Cordova, with the Life of Diego +Garcia de Paredes.” +</p> +<p> +When the curate read the two first titles he looked over at the barber and +said, “We want my friend’s housekeeper and niece here now.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay,” said the barber, “I can do just as well to carry them to the yard +or to the hearth, and there is a very good fire there.” +</p> +<p> +“What! your worship would burn my books!” said the landlord. +</p> +<p> +“Only these two,” said the curate, “Don Cirongilio, and Felixmarte.” +</p> +<p> +“Are my books, then, heretics or phlegmatics that you want to burn +them?” said the landlord. +</p> +<p> +“Schismatics you mean, friend,” said the barber, “not phlegmatics.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s it,” said the landlord; “but if you want to burn any, let it be +that about the Great Captain and that Diego Garcia; for I would rather +have a child of mine burnt than either of the others.” +</p> +<p> +“Brother,” said the curate, “those two books are made up of lies, and are +full of folly and nonsense; but this of the Great Captain is a true +history, and contains the deeds of Gonzalo Hernandez of Cordova, who by +his many and great achievements earned the title all over the world of the +Great Captain, a famous and illustrious name, and deserved by him alone; +and this Diego Garcia de Paredes was a distinguished knight of the city of +Trujillo in Estremadura, a most gallant soldier, and of such bodily +strength that with one finger he stopped a mill-wheel in full motion; and +posted with a two-handed sword at the foot of a bridge he kept the whole +of an immense army from passing over it, and achieved such other exploits +that if, instead of his relating them himself with the modesty of a knight +and of one writing his own history, some free and unbiased writer had +recorded them, they would have thrown into the shade all the deeds of the +Hectors, Achilleses, and Rolands.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c32b" id="c32b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c32b.jpg (395K)" src="images/c32b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c32b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Tell that to my father,” said the landlord. “There’s a thing to be +astonished at! Stopping a mill-wheel! By God your worship should read what +I have read of Felixmarte of Hircania, how with one single backstroke he +cleft five giants asunder through the middle as if they had been made of +bean-pods like the little friars the children make; and another time he +attacked a very great and powerful army, in which there were more than a +million six hundred thousand soldiers, all armed from head to foot, and he +routed them all as if they had been flocks of sheep.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c32c" id="c32c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c32c.jpg (341K)" src="images/c32c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c32c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“And then, what do you say to the good Cirongilio of Thrace, that was so +stout and bold; as may be seen in the book, where it is related that as he +was sailing along a river there came up out of the midst of the water +against him a fiery serpent, and he, as soon as he saw it, flung himself +upon it and got astride of its scaly shoulders, and squeezed its throat +with both hands with such force that the serpent, finding he was +throttling it, had nothing for it but to let itself sink to the bottom of +the river, carrying with it the knight who would not let go his hold; and +when they got down there he found himself among palaces and gardens so +pretty that it was a wonder to see; and then the serpent changed itself +into an old ancient man, who told him such things as were never heard. +Hold your peace, señor; for if you were to hear this you would go mad with +delight. A couple of figs for your Great Captain and your Diego Garcia!” +</p> +<p> +Hearing this Dorothea said in a whisper to Cardenio, “Our landlord is +almost fit to play a second part to Don Quixote.” +</p> +<p> +“I think so,” said Cardenio, “for, as he shows, he accepts it as a +certainty that everything those books relate took place exactly as it is +written down; and the barefooted friars themselves would not persuade him +to the contrary.” +</p> +<p> +“But consider, brother,” said the curate once more, “there never was any +Felixmarte of Hircania in the world, nor any Cirongilio of Thrace, or any +of the other knights of the same sort, that the books of chivalry talk of; +the whole thing is the fabrication and invention of idle wits, devised by +them for the purpose you describe of beguiling the time, as your reapers +do when they read; for I swear to you in all seriousness there never were +any such knights in the world, and no such exploits or nonsense ever +happened anywhere.” +</p> +<p> +“Try that bone on another dog,” said the landlord; “as if I did not know +how many make five, and where my shoe pinches me; don’t think to feed me +with pap, for by God I am no fool. It is a good joke for your worship to +try and persuade me that everything these good books say is nonsense and +lies, and they printed by the license of the Lords of the Royal Council, +as if they were people who would allow such a lot of lies to be printed +all together, and so many battles and enchantments that they take away +one’s senses.” +</p> +<p> +“I have told you, friend,” said the curate, “that this is done to divert +our idle thoughts; and as in well-ordered states games of chess, fives, +and billiards are allowed for the diversion of those who do not care, or +are not obliged, or are unable to work, so books of this kind are allowed +to be printed, on the supposition that, what indeed is the truth, there +can be nobody so ignorant as to take any of them for true stories; and if +it were permitted me now, and the present company desired it, I could say +something about the qualities books of chivalry should possess to be good +ones, that would be to the advantage and even to the taste of some; but I +hope the time will come when I can communicate my ideas to some one who +may be able to mend matters; and in the meantime, señor landlord, believe +what I have said, and take your books, and make up your mind about their +truth or falsehood, and much good may they do you; and God grant you may +not fall lame of the same foot your guest Don Quixote halts on.” +</p> +<p> +“No fear of that,” returned the landlord; “I shall not be so mad as to +make a knight-errant of myself; for I see well enough that things are not +now as they used to be in those days, when they say those famous knights +roamed about the world.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho had made his appearance in the middle of this conversation, and he +was very much troubled and cast down by what he heard said about +knights-errant being now no longer in vogue, and all books of chivalry +being folly and lies; and he resolved in his heart to wait and see what +came of this journey of his master’s, and if it did not turn out as +happily as his master expected, he determined to leave him and go back to +his wife and children and his ordinary labour. +</p> +<p> +The landlord was carrying away the valise and the books, but the curate +said to him, “Wait; I want to see what those papers are that are written +in such a good hand.” The landlord taking them out handed them to him to +read, and he perceived they were a work of about eight sheets of +manuscript, with, in large letters at the beginning, the title of “Novel +of the Ill-advised Curiosity.” The curate read three or four lines to +himself, and said, “I must say the title of this novel does not seem to me +a bad one, and I feel an inclination to read it all.” To which the +landlord replied, “Then your reverence will do well to read it, for I can +tell you that some guests who have read it here have been much pleased +with it, and have begged it of me very earnestly; but I would not give it, +meaning to return it to the person who forgot the valise, books, and +papers here, for maybe he will return here some time or other; and though +I know I shall miss the books, faith I mean to return them; for though I +am an innkeeper, still I am a Christian.” +</p> +<p> +“You are very right, friend,” said the curate; “but for all that, if the +novel pleases me you must let me copy it.” +</p> +<p> +“With all my heart,” replied the host. +</p> +<p> +While they were talking Cardenio had taken up the novel and begun to read +it, and forming the same opinion of it as the curate, he begged him to +read it so that they might all hear it. +</p> +<p> +“I would read it,” said the curate, “if the time would not be better spent +in sleeping.” +</p> +<p> +“It will be rest enough for me,” said Dorothea, “to while away the time by +listening to some tale, for my spirits are not yet tranquil enough to let +me sleep when it would be seasonable.” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, in that case,” said the curate, “I will read it, if it were +only out of curiosity; perhaps it may contain something pleasant.” +</p> +<p> +Master Nicholas added his entreaties to the same effect, and Sancho too; +seeing which, and considering that he would give pleasure to all, and +receive it himself, the curate said, “Well then, attend to me everyone, +for the novel begins thus.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c32e" id="c32e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c32e.jpg (11K)" src="images/c32e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch33" id="ch33"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3>IN WHICH IS RELATED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY”</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +In Florence, a rich and famous city of Italy in the province called +Tuscany, there lived two gentlemen of wealth and quality, Anselmo and +Lothario, such great friends that by way of distinction they were called +by all that knew them “The Two Friends.” They were unmarried, young, of +the same age and of the same tastes, which was enough to account for the +reciprocal friendship between them. Anselmo, it is true, was somewhat more +inclined to seek pleasure in love than Lothario, for whom the pleasures of +the chase had more attraction; but on occasion Anselmo would forego his +own tastes to yield to those of Lothario, and Lothario would surrender his +to fall in with those of Anselmo, and in this way their inclinations kept +pace one with the other with a concord so perfect that the best regulated +clock could not surpass it. +</p> +<p> +Anselmo was deep in love with a high-born and beautiful maiden of the same +city, the daughter of parents so estimable, and so estimable herself, that +he resolved, with the approval of his friend Lothario, without whom he did +nothing, to ask her of them in marriage, and did so, Lothario being the +bearer of the demand, and conducting the negotiation so much to the +satisfaction of his friend that in a short time he was in possession of +the object of his desires, and Camilla so happy in having won Anselmo for +her husband, that she gave thanks unceasingly to heaven and to Lothario, +by whose means such good fortune had fallen to her. The first few days, +those of a wedding being usually days of merry-making, Lothario frequented +his friend Anselmo’s house as he had been wont, striving to do honour to +him and to the occasion, and to gratify him in every way he could; but +when the wedding days were over and the succession of visits and +congratulations had slackened, he began purposely to leave off going to +the house of Anselmo, for it seemed to him, as it naturally would to all +men of sense, that friends’ houses ought not to be visited after marriage +with the same frequency as in their masters’ bachelor days: because, +though true and genuine friendship cannot and should not be in any way +suspicious, still a married man’s honour is a thing of such delicacy that +it is held liable to injury from brothers, much more from friends. Anselmo +remarked the cessation of Lothario’s visits, and complained of it to him, +saying that if he had known that marriage was to keep him from enjoying +his society as he used, he would have never married; and that, if by the +thorough harmony that subsisted between them while he was a bachelor they +had earned such a sweet name as that of “The Two Friends,” he should not +allow a title so rare and so delightful to be lost through a needless +anxiety to act circumspectly; and so he entreated him, if such a phrase +was allowable between them, to be once more master of his house and to +come in and go out as formerly, assuring him that his wife Camilla had no +other desire or inclination than that which he would wish her to have, and +that knowing how sincerely they loved one another she was grieved to see +such coldness in him. +</p> +<p> +To all this and much more that Anselmo said to Lothario to persuade him to +come to his house as he had been in the habit of doing, Lothario replied +with so much prudence, sense, and judgment, that Anselmo was satisfied of +his friend’s good intentions, and it was agreed that on two days in the +week, and on holidays, Lothario should come to dine with him; but though +this arrangement was made between them Lothario resolved to observe it no +further than he considered to be in accordance with the honour of his +friend, whose good name was more to him than his own. He said, and justly, +that a married man upon whom heaven had bestowed a beautiful wife should +consider as carefully what friends he brought to his house as what female +friends his wife associated with, for what cannot be done or arranged in +the market-place, in church, at public festivals or at stations +(opportunities that husbands cannot always deny their wives), may be +easily managed in the house of the female friend or relative in whom most +confidence is reposed. Lothario said, too, that every married man should +have some friend who would point out to him any negligence he might be +guilty of in his conduct, for it will sometimes happen that owing to the +deep affection the husband bears his wife either he does not caution her, +or, not to vex her, refrains from telling her to do or not to do certain +things, doing or avoiding which may be a matter of honour or reproach to +him; and errors of this kind he could easily correct if warned by a +friend. But where is such a friend to be found as Lothario would have, so +judicious, so loyal, and so true? +</p> +<p> +Of a truth I know not; Lothario alone was such a one, for with the utmost +care and vigilance he watched over the honour of his friend, and strove to +diminish, cut down, and reduce the number of days for going to his house +according to their agreement, lest the visits of a young man, wealthy, +high-born, and with the attractions he was conscious of possessing, at the +house of a woman so beautiful as Camilla, should be regarded with +suspicion by the inquisitive and malicious eyes of the idle public. For +though his integrity and reputation might bridle slanderous tongues, still +he was unwilling to hazard either his own good name or that of his friend; +and for this reason most of the days agreed upon he devoted to some other +business which he pretended was unavoidable; so that a great portion of +the day was taken up with complaints on one side and excuses on the other. +It happened, however, that on one occasion when the two were strolling +together outside the city, Anselmo addressed the following words to +Lothario. +</p> +<p> +“Thou mayest suppose, Lothario my friend, that I am unable to give +sufficient thanks for the favours God has rendered me in making me the son +of such parents as mine were, and bestowing upon me with no niggard hand +what are called the gifts of nature as well as those of fortune, and above +all for what he has done in giving me thee for a friend and Camilla for a +wife—two treasures that I value, if not as highly as I ought, at +least as highly as I am able. And yet, with all these good things, which +are commonly all that men need to enable them to live happily, I am the +most discontented and dissatisfied man in the whole world; for, I know not +how long since, I have been harassed and oppressed by a desire so strange +and so unusual, that I wonder at myself and blame and chide myself when I +am alone, and strive to stifle it and hide it from my own thoughts, and +with no better success than if I were endeavouring deliberately to publish +it to all the world; and as, in short, it must come out, I would confide +it to thy safe keeping, feeling sure that by this means, and by thy +readiness as a true friend to afford me relief, I shall soon find myself +freed from the distress it causes me, and that thy care will give me +happiness in the same degree as my own folly has caused me misery.” +</p> +<p> +The words of Anselmo struck Lothario with astonishment, unable as he was +to conjecture the purport of such a lengthy preamble; and though he strove +to imagine what desire it could be that so troubled his friend, his +conjectures were all far from the truth, and to relieve the anxiety which +this perplexity was causing him, he told him he was doing a flagrant +injustice to their great friendship in seeking circuitous methods of +confiding to him his most hidden thoughts, for he well knew he might +reckon upon his counsel in diverting them, or his help in carrying them +into effect. +</p> +<p> +“That is the truth,” replied Anselmo, “and relying upon that I will tell +thee, friend Lothario, that the desire which harasses me is that of +knowing whether my wife Camilla is as good and as perfect as I think her +to be; and I cannot satisfy myself of the truth on this point except by +testing her in such a way that the trial may prove the purity of her +virtue as the fire proves that of gold; because I am persuaded, my friend, +that a woman is virtuous only in proportion as she is or is not tempted; +and that she alone is strong who does not yield to the promises, gifts, +tears, and importunities of earnest lovers; for what thanks does a woman +deserve for being good if no one urges her to be bad, and what wonder is +it that she is reserved and circumspect to whom no opportunity is given of +going wrong and who knows she has a husband that will take her life the +first time he detects her in an impropriety? I do not therefore hold her +who is virtuous through fear or want of opportunity in the same estimation +as her who comes out of temptation and trial with a crown of victory; and +so, for these reasons and many others that I could give thee to justify +and support the opinion I hold, I am desirous that my wife Camilla should +pass this crisis, and be refined and tested by the fire of finding herself +wooed and by one worthy to set his affections upon her; and if she comes +out, as I know she will, victorious from this struggle, I shall look upon +my good fortune as unequalled, I shall be able to say that the cup of my +desire is full, and that the virtuous woman of whom the sage says ‘Who +shall find her?’ has fallen to my lot. And if the result be the contrary +of what I expect, in the satisfaction of knowing that I have been right in +my opinion, I shall bear without complaint the pain which my so dearly +bought experience will naturally cause me. And, as nothing of all thou +wilt urge in opposition to my wish will avail to keep me from carrying it +into effect, it is my desire, friend Lothario, that thou shouldst consent +to become the instrument for effecting this purpose that I am bent upon, +for I will afford thee opportunities to that end, and nothing shall be +wanting that I may think necessary for the pursuit of a virtuous, +honourable, modest and high-minded woman. And among other reasons, I am +induced to entrust this arduous task to thee by the consideration that if +Camilla be conquered by thee the conquest will not be pushed to extremes, +but only far enough to account that accomplished which from a sense of +honour will be left undone; thus I shall not be wronged in anything more +than intention, and my wrong will remain buried in the integrity of thy +silence, which I know well will be as lasting as that of death in what +concerns me. If, therefore, thou wouldst have me enjoy what can be called +life, thou wilt at once engage in this love struggle, not lukewarmly nor +slothfully, but with the energy and zeal that my desire demands, and with +the loyalty our friendship assures me of.” +</p> +<p> +Such were the words Anselmo addressed to Lothario, who listened to them +with such attention that, except to say what has been already mentioned, +he did not open his lips until the other had finished. Then perceiving +that he had no more to say, after regarding him for awhile, as one would +regard something never before seen that excited wonder and amazement, he +said to him, “I cannot persuade myself, Anselmo my friend, that what thou +hast said to me is not in jest; if I thought that thou wert speaking +seriously I would not have allowed thee to go so far; so as to put a stop +to thy long harangue by not listening to thee I verily suspect that either +thou dost not know me, or I do not know thee; but no, I know well thou art +Anselmo, and thou knowest that I am Lothario; the misfortune is, it seems +to me, that thou art not the Anselmo thou wert, and must have thought that +I am not the Lothario I should be; for the things that thou hast said to +me are not those of that Anselmo who was my friend, nor are those that +thou demandest of me what should be asked of the Lothario thou knowest. +True friends will prove their friends and make use of them, as a poet has +said, usque ad aras; whereby he meant that they will not make use of their +friendship in things that are contrary to God’s will. If this, then, was a +heathen’s feeling about friendship, how much more should it be a +Christian’s, who knows that the divine must not be forfeited for the sake +of any human friendship? And if a friend should go so far as to put aside +his duty to Heaven to fulfil his duty to his friend, it should not be in +matters that are trifling or of little moment, but in such as affect the +friend’s life and honour. Now tell me, Anselmo, in which of these two art +thou imperilled, that I should hazard myself to gratify thee, and do a +thing so detestable as that thou seekest of me? Neither forsooth; on the +contrary, thou dost ask of me, so far as I understand, to strive and +labour to rob thee of honour and life, and to rob myself of them at the +same time; for if I take away thy honour it is plain I take away thy life, +as a man without honour is worse than dead; and being the instrument, as +thou wilt have it so, of so much wrong to thee, shall not I, too, be left +without honour, and consequently without life? Listen to me, Anselmo my +friend, and be not impatient to answer me until I have said what occurs to +me touching the object of thy desire, for there will be time enough left +for thee to reply and for me to hear.” +</p> +<p> +“Be it so,” said Anselmo, “say what thou wilt.” +</p> +<p> +Lothario then went on to say, “It seems to me, Anselmo, that thine is +just now the temper of mind which is always that of the Moors, who can never be +brought to see the error of their creed by quotations from the Holy Scriptures, +or by reasons which depend upon the examination of the understanding or are +founded upon the articles of faith, but must have examples that are palpable, +easy, intelligible, capable of proof, not admitting of doubt, with mathematical +demonstrations that cannot be denied, like, ‘If equals be taken from +equals, the remainders are equal:’ and if they do not understand this in +words, and indeed they do not, it has to be shown to them with the hands, and +put before their eyes, and even with all this no one succeeds in convincing +them of the truth of our holy religion. This same mode of proceeding I shall +have to adopt with thee, for the desire which has sprung up in thee is so +absurd and remote from everything that has a semblance of reason, that I feel +it would be a waste of time to employ it in reasoning with thy simplicity, for +at present I will call it by no other name; and I am even tempted to leave thee +in thy folly as a punishment for thy pernicious desire; but the friendship I +bear thee, which will not allow me to desert thee in such manifest danger of +destruction, keeps me from dealing so harshly by thee. And that thou mayest +clearly see this, say, Anselmo, hast thou not told me that I must force my suit +upon a modest woman, decoy one that is virtuous, make overtures to one that is +pure-minded, pay court to one that is prudent? Yes, thou hast told me so. Then, +if thou knowest that thou hast a wife, modest, virtuous, pure-minded and +prudent, what is it that thou seekest? And if thou believest that she will come +forth victorious from all my attacks—as doubtless she would—what +higher titles than those she possesses now dost thou think thou canst bestow +upon her then, or in what will she be better then than she is now? Either thou +dost not hold her to be what thou sayest, or thou knowest not what thou dost +demand. If thou dost not hold her to be what thou sayest, why dost thou seek to +prove her instead of treating her as guilty in the way that may seem best to +thee? but if she be as virtuous as thou believest, it is an uncalled-for +proceeding to make trial of truth itself, for, after trial, it will but be in +the same estimation as before. Thus, then, it is conclusive that to attempt +things from which harm rather than advantage may come to us is the part of +unreasoning and reckless minds, more especially when they are things which we +are not forced or compelled to attempt, and which show from afar that it is +plainly madness to attempt them. +</p> +<p> +“Difficulties are attempted either for the sake of God or for the sake of +the world, or for both; those undertaken for God’s sake are those which +the saints undertake when they attempt to live the lives of angels in +human bodies; those undertaken for the sake of the world are those of the +men who traverse such a vast expanse of water, such a variety of climates, +so many strange countries, to acquire what are called the blessings of +fortune; and those undertaken for the sake of God and the world together +are those of brave soldiers, who no sooner do they see in the enemy’s wall +a breach as wide as a cannon ball could make, than, casting aside all +fear, without hesitating, or heeding the manifest peril that threatens +them, borne onward by the desire of defending their faith, their country, +and their king, they fling themselves dauntlessly into the midst of the +thousand opposing deaths that await them. Such are the things that men are +wont to attempt, and there is honour, glory, gain, in attempting them, +however full of difficulty and peril they may be; but that which thou +sayest it is thy wish to attempt and carry out will not win thee the glory +of God nor the blessings of fortune nor fame among men; for even if the +issue be as thou wouldst have it, thou wilt be no happier, richer, or more +honoured than thou art this moment; and if it be otherwise thou wilt be +reduced to misery greater than can be imagined, for then it will avail +thee nothing to reflect that no one is aware of the misfortune that has +befallen thee; it will suffice to torture and crush thee that thou knowest +it thyself. And in confirmation of the truth of what I say, let me repeat +to thee a stanza made by the famous poet Luigi Tansillo at the end of the +first part of his ‘Tears of Saint Peter,’ which says thus: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The anguish and the shame but greater grew<br/> + In Peter’s heart as morning slowly came;<br/> +No eye was there to see him, well he knew,<br/> + Yet he himself was to himself a shame;<br/> +Exposed to all men’s gaze, or screened from view,<br/> + A noble heart will feel the pang the same;<br/> +A prey to shame the sinning soul will be,<br/> +Though none but heaven and earth its shame can see. +</p> + +<p> +Thus by keeping it secret thou wilt not escape thy sorrow, but rather thou +wilt shed tears unceasingly, if not tears of the eyes, tears of blood from +the heart, like those shed by that simple doctor our poet tells us of, +that tried the test of the cup, which the wise Rinaldo, better advised, +refused to do; for though this may be a poetic fiction it contains a moral +lesson worthy of attention and study and imitation. Moreover by what I am +about to say to thee thou wilt be led to see the great error thou wouldst +commit. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or good fortune had made thee master and +lawful owner of a diamond of the finest quality, with the excellence and +purity of which all the lapidaries that had seen it had been satisfied, +saying with one voice and common consent that in purity, quality, and +fineness, it was all that a stone of the kind could possibly be, thou +thyself too being of the same belief, as knowing nothing to the contrary, +would it be reasonable in thee to desire to take that diamond and place it +between an anvil and a hammer, and by mere force of blows and strength of +arm try if it were as hard and as fine as they said? And if thou didst, +and if the stone should resist so silly a test, that would add nothing to +its value or reputation; and if it were broken, as it might be, would not +all be lost? Undoubtedly it would, leaving its owner to be rated as a fool +in the opinion of all. Consider, then, Anselmo my friend, that Camilla is +a diamond of the finest quality as well in thy estimation as in that of +others, and that it is contrary to reason to expose her to the risk of +being broken; for if she remains intact she cannot rise to a higher value +than she now possesses; and if she give way and be unable to resist, +bethink thee now how thou wilt be deprived of her, and with what good +reason thou wilt complain of thyself for having been the cause of her ruin +and thine own. Remember there is no jewel in the world so precious as a +chaste and virtuous woman, and that the whole honour of women consists in +reputation; and since thy wife’s is of that high excellence that thou +knowest, wherefore shouldst thou seek to call that truth in question? +Remember, my friend, that woman is an imperfect animal, and that +impediments are not to be placed in her way to make her trip and fall, but +that they should be removed, and her path left clear of all obstacles, so +that without hindrance she may run her course freely to attain the desired +perfection, which consists in being virtuous. Naturalists tell us that the +ermine is a little animal which has a fur of purest white, and that when +the hunters wish to take it, they make use of this artifice. Having +ascertained the places which it frequents and passes, they stop the way to +them with mud, and then rousing it, drive it towards the spot, and as soon +as the ermine comes to the mud it halts, and allows itself to be taken +captive rather than pass through the mire, and spoil and sully its +whiteness, which it values more than life and liberty. The virtuous and +chaste woman is an ermine, and whiter and purer than snow is the virtue of +modesty; and he who wishes her not to lose it, but to keep and preserve +it, must adopt a course different from that employed with the ermine; he +must not put before her the mire of the gifts and attentions of +persevering lovers, because perhaps—and even without a perhaps—she +may not have sufficient virtue and natural strength in herself to pass +through and tread under foot these impediments; they must be removed, and +the brightness of virtue and the beauty of a fair fame must be put before +her. A virtuous woman, too, is like a mirror, of clear shining crystal, +liable to be tarnished and dimmed by every breath that touches it. She +must be treated as relics are; adored, not touched. She must be protected +and prized as one protects and prizes a fair garden full of roses and +flowers, the owner of which allows no one to trespass or pluck a blossom; +enough for others that from afar and through the iron grating they may +enjoy its fragrance and its beauty. Finally let me repeat to thee some +verses that come to my mind; I heard them in a modern comedy, and it seems +to me they bear upon the point we are discussing. A prudent old man was +giving advice to another, the father of a young girl, to lock her up, +watch over her and keep her in seclusion, and among other arguments he +used these: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Woman is a thing of glass; +But her brittleness ‘tis best +Not too curiously to test: +Who knows what may come to pass? + +Breaking is an easy matter, +And it’s folly to expose +What you cannot mend to blows; +What you can’t make whole to shatter. + +This, then, all may hold as true, +And the reason’s plain to see; +For if Danaes there be, +There are golden showers too.” +</pre> +<p> +“All that I have said to thee so far, Anselmo, has had reference to what +concerns thee; now it is right that I should say something of what regards +myself; and if I be prolix, pardon me, for the labyrinth into which thou +hast entered and from which thou wouldst have me extricate thee makes it +necessary. +</p> +<p> +“Thou dost reckon me thy friend, and thou wouldst rob me of honour, a +thing wholly inconsistent with friendship; and not only dost thou aim at +this, but thou wouldst have me rob thee of it also. That thou wouldst rob +me of it is clear, for when Camilla sees that I pay court to her as thou +requirest, she will certainly regard me as a man without honour or right +feeling, since I attempt and do a thing so much opposed to what I owe to +my own position and thy friendship. That thou wouldst have me rob thee of +it is beyond a doubt, for Camilla, seeing that I press my suit upon her, +will suppose that I have perceived in her something light that has +encouraged me to make known to her my base desire; and if she holds +herself dishonoured, her dishonour touches thee as belonging to her; and +hence arises what so commonly takes place, that the husband of the +adulterous woman, though he may not be aware of or have given any cause +for his wife’s failure in her duty, or (being careless or negligent) have +had it in his power to prevent his dishonour, nevertheless is stigmatised +by a vile and reproachful name, and in a manner regarded with eyes of +contempt instead of pity by all who know of his wife’s guilt, though they +see that he is unfortunate not by his own fault, but by the lust of a +vicious consort. But I will tell thee why with good reason dishonour +attaches to the husband of the unchaste wife, though he know not that she +is so, nor be to blame, nor have done anything, or given any provocation +to make her so; and be not weary with listening to me, for it will be for +thy good. +</p> +<p> +“When God created our first parent in the earthly paradise, the Holy +Scripture says that he infused sleep into Adam and while he slept took a +rib from his left side of which he formed our mother Eve, and when Adam +awoke and beheld her he said, ‘This is flesh of my flesh, and bone of my +bone.’ And God said ‘For this shall a man leave his father and his mother, +and they shall be two in one flesh; and then was instituted the divine +sacrament of marriage, with such ties that death alone can loose them. And +such is the force and virtue of this miraculous sacrament that it makes +two different persons one and the same flesh; and even more than this when +the virtuous are married; for though they have two souls they have but one +will. And hence it follows that as the flesh of the wife is one and the +same with that of her husband the stains that may come upon it, or the +injuries it incurs fall upon the husband’s flesh, though he, as has been +said, may have given no cause for them; for as the pain of the foot or any +member of the body is felt by the whole body, because all is one flesh, as +the head feels the hurt to the ankle without having caused it, so the +husband, being one with her, shares the dishonour of the wife; and as all +worldly honour or dishonour comes of flesh and blood, and the erring +wife’s is of that kind, the husband must needs bear his part of it and be +held dishonoured without knowing it. See, then, Anselmo, the peril thou +art encountering in seeking to disturb the peace of thy virtuous consort; +see for what an empty and ill-advised curiosity thou wouldst rouse up +passions that now repose in quiet in the breast of thy chaste wife; +reflect that what thou art staking all to win is little, and what thou +wilt lose so much that I leave it undescribed, not having the words to +express it. But if all I have said be not enough to turn thee from thy +vile purpose, thou must seek some other instrument for thy dishonour and +misfortune; for such I will not consent to be, though I lose thy +friendship, the greatest loss that I can conceive.” +</p> +<p> +Having said this, the wise and virtuous Lothario was silent, and Anselmo, +troubled in mind and deep in thought, was unable for a while to utter a +word in reply; but at length he said, “I have listened, Lothario my +friend, attentively, as thou hast seen, to what thou hast chosen to say to +me, and in thy arguments, examples, and comparisons I have seen that high +intelligence thou dost possess, and the perfection of true friendship thou +hast reached; and likewise I see and confess that if I am not guided by +thy opinion, but follow my own, I am flying from the good and pursuing the +evil. This being so, thou must remember that I am now labouring under that +infirmity which women sometimes suffer from, when the craving seizes them +to eat clay, plaster, charcoal, and things even worse, disgusting to look +at, much more to eat; so that it will be necessary to have recourse to +some artifice to cure me; and this can be easily effected if only thou +wilt make a beginning, even though it be in a lukewarm and make-believe +fashion, to pay court to Camilla, who will not be so yielding that her +virtue will give way at the first attack: with this mere attempt I shall +rest satisfied, and thou wilt have done what our friendship binds thee to +do, not only in giving me life, but in persuading me not to discard my +honour. And this thou art bound to do for one reason alone, that, being, +as I am, resolved to apply this test, it is not for thee to permit me to +reveal my weakness to another, and so imperil that honour thou art +striving to keep me from losing; and if thine may not stand as high as it +ought in the estimation of Camilla while thou art paying court to her, +that is of little or no importance, because ere long, on finding in her +that constancy which we expect, thou canst tell her the plain truth as +regards our stratagem, and so regain thy place in her esteem; and as thou +art venturing so little, and by the venture canst afford me so much +satisfaction, refuse not to undertake it, even if further difficulties +present themselves to thee; for, as I have said, if thou wilt only make a +beginning I will acknowledge the issue decided.” +</p> +<p> +Lothario seeing the fixed determination of Anselmo, and not knowing what +further examples to offer or arguments to urge in order to dissuade him +from it, and perceiving that he threatened to confide his pernicious +scheme to some one else, to avoid a greater evil resolved to gratify him +and do what he asked, intending to manage the business so as to satisfy +Anselmo without corrupting the mind of Camilla; so in reply he told him +not to communicate his purpose to any other, for he would undertake the +task himself, and would begin it as soon as he pleased. Anselmo embraced +him warmly and affectionately, and thanked him for his offer as if he had +bestowed some great favour upon him; and it was agreed between them to set +about it the next day, Anselmo affording opportunity and time to Lothario +to converse alone with Camilla, and furnishing him with money and jewels +to offer and present to her. He suggested, too, that he should treat her +to music, and write verses in her praise, and if he was unwilling to take +the trouble of composing them, he offered to do it himself. Lothario +agreed to all with an intention very different from what Anselmo supposed, +and with this understanding they returned to Anselmo’s house, where they +found Camilla awaiting her husband anxiously and uneasily, for he was +later than usual in returning that day. Lothario repaired to his own +house, and Anselmo remained in his, as well satisfied as Lothario was +troubled in mind; for he could see no satisfactory way out of this +ill-advised business. That night, however, he thought of a plan by which +he might deceive Anselmo without any injury to Camilla. The next day he +went to dine with his friend, and was welcomed by Camilla, who received +and treated him with great cordiality, knowing the affection her husband +felt for him. When dinner was over and the cloth removed, Anselmo told +Lothario to stay there with Camilla while he attended to some pressing +business, as he would return in an hour and a half. Camilla begged him not +to go, and Lothario offered to accompany him, but nothing could persuade +Anselmo, who on the contrary pressed Lothario to remain waiting for him as +he had a matter of great importance to discuss with him. At the same time +he bade Camilla not to leave Lothario alone until he came back. In short +he contrived to put so good a face on the reason, or the folly, of his +absence that no one could have suspected it was a pretence. +</p> +<p> +Anselmo took his departure, and Camilla and Lothario were left alone at +the table, for the rest of the household had gone to dinner. Lothario saw +himself in the lists according to his friend’s wish, and facing an enemy +that could by her beauty alone vanquish a squadron of armed knights; judge +whether he had good reason to fear; but what he did was to lean his elbow +on the arm of the chair, and his cheek upon his hand, and, asking +Camilla’s pardon for his ill manners, he said he wished to take a little +sleep until Anselmo returned. Camilla in reply said he could repose more +at his ease in the reception-room than in his chair, and begged of him to +go in and sleep there; but Lothario declined, and there he remained asleep +until the return of Anselmo, who finding Camilla in her own room, and +Lothario asleep, imagined that he had stayed away so long as to have +afforded them time enough for conversation and even for sleep, and was all +impatience until Lothario should wake up, that he might go out with him +and question him as to his success. Everything fell out as he wished; +Lothario awoke, and the two at once left the house, and Anselmo asked what +he was anxious to know, and Lothario in answer told him that he had not +thought it advisable to declare himself entirely the first time, and +therefore had only extolled the charms of Camilla, telling her that all +the city spoke of nothing else but her beauty and wit, for this seemed to +him an excellent way of beginning to gain her good-will and render her +disposed to listen to him with pleasure the next time, thus availing +himself of the device the devil has recourse to when he would deceive one +who is on the watch; for he being the angel of darkness transforms himself +into an angel of light, and, under cover of a fair seeming, discloses +himself at length, and effects his purpose if at the beginning his wiles +are not discovered. All this gave great satisfaction to Anselmo, and he +said he would afford the same opportunity every day, but without leaving +the house, for he would find things to do at home so that Camilla should +not detect the plot. +</p> +<p> +Thus, then, several days went by, and Lothario, without uttering a word to +Camilla, reported to Anselmo that he had talked with her and that he had +never been able to draw from her the slightest indication of consent to +anything dishonourable, nor even a sign or shadow of hope; on the +contrary, he said she would inform her husband of it. +</p> +<p> +“So far well,” said Anselmo; “Camilla has thus far resisted words; we must +now see how she will resist deeds. I will give you to-morrow two thousand +crowns in gold for you to offer or even present, and as many more to buy +jewels to lure her, for women are fond of being becomingly attired and +going gaily dressed, and all the more so if they are beautiful, however +chaste they may be; and if she resists this temptation, I will rest +satisfied and will give you no more trouble.” +</p> +<p> +Lothario replied that now he had begun he would carry on the undertaking +to the end, though he perceived he was to come out of it wearied and +vanquished. The next day he received the four thousand crowns, and with +them four thousand perplexities, for he knew not what to say by way of a +new falsehood; but in the end he made up his mind to tell him that Camilla +stood as firm against gifts and promises as against words, and that there +was no use in taking any further trouble, for the time was all spent to no +purpose. +</p> +<p> +But chance, directing things in a different manner, so ordered it that +Anselmo, having left Lothario and Camilla alone as on other occasions, +shut himself into a chamber and posted himself to watch and listen through +the keyhole to what passed between them, and perceived that for more than +half an hour Lothario did not utter a word to Camilla, nor would utter a +word though he were to be there for an age; and he came to the conclusion +that what his friend had told him about the replies of Camilla was all +invention and falsehood, and to ascertain if it were so, he came out, and +calling Lothario aside asked him what news he had and in what humour +Camilla was. Lothario replied that he was not disposed to go on with the +business, for she had answered him so angrily and harshly that he had no +heart to say anything more to her. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Lothario, Lothario,” said Anselmo, “how ill dost thou meet thy +obligations to me, and the great confidence I repose in thee! I have been +just now watching through this keyhole, and I have seen that thou hast not +said a word to Camilla, whence I conclude that on the former occasions +thou hast not spoken to her either, and if this be so, as no doubt it is, +why dost thou deceive me, or wherefore seekest thou by craft to deprive me +of the means I might find of attaining my desire?” +</p> +<p> +Anselmo said no more, but he had said enough to cover Lothario with shame +and confusion, and he, feeling as it were his honour touched by having +been detected in a lie, swore to Anselmo that he would from that moment +devote himself to satisfying him without any deception, as he would see if +he had the curiosity to watch; though he need not take the trouble, for +the pains he would take to satisfy him would remove all suspicions from +his mind. Anselmo believed him, and to afford him an opportunity more free +and less liable to surprise, he resolved to absent himself from his house +for eight days, betaking himself to that of a friend of his who lived in a +village not far from the city; and, the better to account for his +departure to Camilla, he so arranged it that the friend should send him a +very pressing invitation. +</p> +<p> +Unhappy, shortsighted Anselmo, what art thou doing, what art thou +plotting, what art thou devising? Bethink thee thou art working against +thyself, plotting thine own dishonour, devising thine own ruin. Thy wife +Camilla is virtuous, thou dost possess her in peace and quietness, no one +assails thy happiness, her thoughts wander not beyond the walls of thy +house, thou art her heaven on earth, the object of her wishes, the +fulfilment of her desires, the measure wherewith she measures her will, +making it conform in all things to thine and Heaven’s. If, then, the mine +of her honour, beauty, virtue, and modesty yields thee without labour all +the wealth it contains and thou canst wish for, why wilt thou dig the +earth in search of fresh veins, of new unknown treasure, risking the +collapse of all, since it but rests on the feeble props of her weak +nature? Bethink thee that from him who seeks impossibilities that which is +possible may with justice be withheld, as was better expressed by a poet +who said: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Tis mine to seek for life in death, +Health in disease seek I, +I seek in prison freedom’s breath, +In traitors loyalty. +So Fate that ever scorns to grant +Or grace or boon to me, +Since what can never be I want, +Denies me what might be. +</pre> +<p> +The next day Anselmo took his departure for the village, leaving +instructions with Camilla that during his absence Lothario would come to +look after his house and to dine with her, and that she was to treat him +as she would himself. Camilla was distressed, as a discreet and +right-minded woman would be, at the orders her husband left her, and bade +him remember that it was not becoming that anyone should occupy his seat +at the table during his absence, and if he acted thus from not feeling +confidence that she would be able to manage his house, let him try her +this time, and he would find by experience that she was equal to greater +responsibilities. Anselmo replied that it was his pleasure to have it so, +and that she had only to submit and obey. Camilla said she would do so, +though against her will. +</p> +<p> +Anselmo went, and the next day Lothario came to his house, where he was +received by Camilla with a friendly and modest welcome; but she never +suffered Lothario to see her alone, for she was always attended by her men +and women servants, especially by a handmaid of hers, Leonela by name, to +whom she was much attached (for they had been brought up together from +childhood in her father’s house), and whom she had kept with her after her +marriage with Anselmo. The first three days Lothario did not speak to her, +though he might have done so when they removed the cloth and the servants +retired to dine hastily; for such were Camilla’s orders; nay more, Leonela +had directions to dine earlier than Camilla and never to leave her side. +She, however, having her thoughts fixed upon other things more to her +taste, and wanting that time and opportunity for her own pleasures, did +not always obey her mistress’s commands, but on the contrary left them +alone, as if they had ordered her to do so; but the modest bearing of +Camilla, the calmness of her countenance, the composure of her aspect were +enough to bridle the tongue of Lothario. But the influence which the many +virtues of Camilla exerted in imposing silence on Lothario’s tongue proved +mischievous for both of them, for if his tongue was silent his thoughts +were busy, and could dwell at leisure upon the perfections of Camilla’s +goodness and beauty one by one, charms enough to warm with love a marble +statue, not to say a heart of flesh. Lothario gazed upon her when he might +have been speaking to her, and thought how worthy of being loved she was; +and thus reflection began little by little to assail his allegiance to +Anselmo, and a thousand times he thought of withdrawing from the city and +going where Anselmo should never see him nor he see Camilla. But already +the delight he found in gazing on her interposed and held him fast. He put +a constraint upon himself, and struggled to repel and repress the pleasure +he found in contemplating Camilla; when alone he blamed himself for his +weakness, called himself a bad friend, nay a bad Christian; then he argued +the matter and compared himself with Anselmo; always coming to the +conclusion that the folly and rashness of Anselmo had been worse than his +faithlessness, and that if he could excuse his intentions as easily before +God as with man, he had no reason to fear any punishment for his offence. +</p> +<p> +In short the beauty and goodness of Camilla, joined with the opportunity +which the blind husband had placed in his hands, overthrew the loyalty of +Lothario; and giving heed to nothing save the object towards which his +inclinations led him, after Anselmo had been three days absent, during +which he had been carrying on a continual struggle with his passion, he +began to make love to Camilla with so much vehemence and warmth of +language that she was overwhelmed with amazement, and could only rise from +her place and retire to her room without answering him a word. But the +hope which always springs up with love was not weakened in Lothario by +this repelling demeanour; on the contrary his passion for Camilla +increased, and she discovering in him what she had never expected, knew +not what to do; and considering it neither safe nor right to give him the +chance or opportunity of speaking to her again, she resolved to send, as +she did that very night, one of her servants with a letter to Anselmo, in +which she addressed the following words to him. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch34" id="ch34"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3>IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY”</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“It is commonly said that an army looks ill without its general and a +castle without its castellan, and I say that a young married woman looks +still worse without her husband unless there are very good reasons for it. +I find myself so ill at ease without you, and so incapable of enduring +this separation, that unless you return quickly I shall have to go for +relief to my parents’ house, even if I leave yours without a protector; +for the one you left me, if indeed he deserved that title, has, I think, +more regard to his own pleasure than to what concerns you: as you are +possessed of discernment I need say no more to you, nor indeed is it +fitting I should say more.” +</p> +<p> +Anselmo received this letter, and from it he gathered that Lothario had +already begun his task and that Camilla must have replied to him as he +would have wished; and delighted beyond measure at such intelligence he +sent word to her not to leave his house on any account, as he would very +shortly return. Camilla was astonished at Anselmo’s reply, which placed +her in greater perplexity than before, for she neither dared to remain in +her own house, nor yet to go to her parents’; for in remaining her virtue +was imperilled, and in going she was opposing her husband’s commands. +Finally she decided upon what was the worse course for her, to remain, +resolving not to fly from the presence of Lothario, that she might not +give food for gossip to her servants; and she now began to regret having +written as she had to her husband, fearing he might imagine that Lothario +had perceived in her some lightness which had impelled him to lay aside +the respect he owed her; but confident of her rectitude she put her trust +in God and in her own virtuous intentions, with which she hoped to resist +in silence all the solicitations of Lothario, without saying anything to +her husband so as not to involve him in any quarrel or trouble; and she +even began to consider how to excuse Lothario to Anselmo when he should +ask her what it was that induced her to write that letter. With these +resolutions, more honourable than judicious or effectual, she remained the +next day listening to Lothario, who pressed his suit so strenuously that +Camilla’s firmness began to waver, and her virtue had enough to do to come +to the rescue of her eyes and keep them from showing signs of a certain +tender compassion which the tears and appeals of Lothario had awakened in +her bosom. Lothario observed all this, and it inflamed him all the more. +In short he felt that while Anselmo’s absence afforded time and +opportunity he must press the siege of the fortress, and so he assailed +her self-esteem with praises of her beauty, for there is nothing that more +quickly reduces and levels the castle towers of fair women’s vanity than +vanity itself upon the tongue of flattery. In fact with the utmost +assiduity he undermined the rock of her purity with such engines that had +Camilla been of brass she must have fallen. He wept, he entreated, he +promised, he flattered, he importuned, he pretended with so much feeling +and apparent sincerity, that he overthrew the virtuous resolves of Camilla +and won the triumph he least expected and most longed for. Camilla +yielded, Camilla fell; but what wonder if the friendship of Lothario could +not stand firm? A clear proof to us that the passion of love is to be +conquered only by flying from it, and that no one should engage in a +struggle with an enemy so mighty; for divine strength is needed to +overcome his human power. Leonela alone knew of her mistress’s weakness, +for the two false friends and new lovers were unable to conceal it. +Lothario did not care to tell Camilla the object Anselmo had in view, nor +that he had afforded him the opportunity of attaining such a result, lest +she should undervalue his love and think that it was by chance and without +intending it and not of his own accord that he had made love to her. +</p> +<p> +A few days later Anselmo returned to his house and did not perceive what +it had lost, that which he so lightly treated and so highly prized. He +went at once to see Lothario, and found him at home; they embraced each +other, and Anselmo asked for the tidings of his life or his death. +</p> +<p> +“The tidings I have to give thee, Anselmo my friend,” said Lothario, “are +that thou dost possess a wife that is worthy to be the pattern and crown +of all good wives. The words that I have addressed to her were borne away +on the wind, my promises have been despised, my presents have been +refused, such feigned tears as I shed have been turned into open ridicule. +In short, as Camilla is the essence of all beauty, so is she the +treasure-house where purity dwells, and gentleness and modesty abide with +all the virtues that can confer praise, honour, and happiness upon a +woman. Take back thy money, my friend; here it is, and I have had no need +to touch it, for the chastity of Camilla yields not to things so base as +gifts or promises. Be content, Anselmo, and refrain from making further +proof; and as thou hast passed dryshod through the sea of those doubts and +suspicions that are and may be entertained of women, seek not to plunge +again into the deep ocean of new embarrassments, or with another pilot +make trial of the goodness and strength of the bark that Heaven has +granted thee for thy passage across the sea of this world; but reckon +thyself now safe in port, moor thyself with the anchor of sound +reflection, and rest in peace until thou art called upon to pay that debt +which no nobility on earth can escape paying.” +</p> +<p> +Anselmo was completely satisfied by the words of Lothario, and believed +them as fully as if they had been spoken by an oracle; nevertheless he +begged of him not to relinquish the undertaking, were it but for the sake +of curiosity and amusement; though thenceforward he need not make use of +the same earnest endeavours as before; all he wished him to do was to +write some verses to her, praising her under the name of Chloris, for he +himself would give her to understand that he was in love with a lady to +whom he had given that name to enable him to sing her praises with the +decorum due to her modesty; and if Lothario were unwilling to take the +trouble of writing the verses he would compose them himself. +</p> +<p> +“That will not be necessary,” said Lothario, “for the muses are not such +enemies of mine but that they visit me now and then in the course of the +year. Do thou tell Camilla what thou hast proposed about a pretended amour +of mine; as for the verses I will make them, and if not as good as the +subject deserves, they shall be at least the best I can produce.” An +agreement to this effect was made between the friends, the ill-advised one +and the treacherous, and Anselmo returning to his house asked Camilla the +question she already wondered he had not asked before—what it was +that had caused her to write the letter she had sent him. Camilla replied +that it had seemed to her that Lothario looked at her somewhat more freely +than when he had been at home; but that now she was undeceived and +believed it to have been only her own imagination, for Lothario now +avoided seeing her, or being alone with her. Anselmo told her she might be +quite easy on the score of that suspicion, for he knew that Lothario was +in love with a damsel of rank in the city whom he celebrated under the +name of Chloris, and that even if he were not, his fidelity and their +great friendship left no room for fear. Had not Camilla, however, been +informed beforehand by Lothario that this love for Chloris was a pretence, +and that he himself had told Anselmo of it in order to be able sometimes +to give utterance to the praises of Camilla herself, no doubt she would +have fallen into the despairing toils of jealousy; but being forewarned +she received the startling news without uneasiness. +</p> +<p> +The next day as the three were at table Anselmo asked Lothario to recite +something of what he had composed for his mistress Chloris; for as Camilla +did not know her, he might safely say what he liked. +</p> +<p> +“Even did she know her,” returned Lothario, “I would hide nothing, for +when a lover praises his lady’s beauty, and charges her with cruelty, he +casts no imputation upon her fair name; at any rate, all I can say is that +yesterday I made a sonnet on the ingratitude of this Chloris, which goes +thus: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SONNET + +At midnight, in the silence, when the eyes +Of happier mortals balmy slumbers close, +The weary tale of my unnumbered woes +To Chloris and to Heaven is wont to rise. +And when the light of day returning dyes +The portals of the east with tints of rose, +With undiminished force my sorrow flows +In broken accents and in burning sighs. +And when the sun ascends his star-girt throne, +And on the earth pours down his midday beams, +Noon but renews my wailing and my tears; +And with the night again goes up my moan. +Yet ever in my agony it seems +To me that neither Heaven nor Chloris hears.” +</pre> +<p> +The sonnet pleased Camilla, and still more Anselmo, for he praised it and +said the lady was excessively cruel who made no return for sincerity so +manifest. On which Camilla said, “Then all that love-smitten poets say is +true?” +</p> +<p> +“As poets they do not tell the truth,” replied Lothario; “but as lovers +they are not more defective in expression than they are truthful.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no doubt of that,” observed Anselmo, anxious to support and +uphold Lothario’s ideas with Camilla, who was as regardless of his design +as she was deep in love with Lothario; and so taking delight in anything +that was his, and knowing that his thoughts and writings had her for their +object, and that she herself was the real Chloris, she asked him to repeat +some other sonnet or verses if he recollected any. +</p> +<p> +“I do,” replied Lothario, “but I do not think it as good as the first one, +or, more correctly speaking, less bad; but you can easily judge, for it is +this. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SONNET + +I know that I am doomed; death is to me +As certain as that thou, ungrateful fair, +Dead at thy feet shouldst see me lying, ere +My heart repented of its love for thee. +If buried in oblivion I should be, +Bereft of life, fame, favour, even there +It would be found that I thy image bear +Deep graven in my breast for all to see. +This like some holy relic do I prize +To save me from the fate my truth entails, +Truth that to thy hard heart its vigour owes. +Alas for him that under lowering skies, +In peril o’er a trackless ocean sails, +Where neither friendly port nor pole-star shows.” +</pre> +<p> +Anselmo praised this second sonnet too, as he had praised the first; and +so he went on adding link after link to the chain with which he was +binding himself and making his dishonour secure; for when Lothario was +doing most to dishonour him he told him he was most honoured; and thus +each step that Camilla descended towards the depths of her abasement, she +mounted, in his opinion, towards the summit of virtue and fair fame. +</p> +<p> +It so happened that finding herself on one occasion alone with her maid, +Camilla said to her, “I am ashamed to think, my dear Leonela, how lightly +I have valued myself that I did not compel Lothario to purchase by at +least some expenditure of time that full possession of me that I so +quickly yielded him of my own free will. I fear that he will think ill of +my pliancy or lightness, not considering the irresistible influence he +brought to bear upon me.” +</p> +<p> +“Let not that trouble you, my lady,” said Leonela, “for it does not take +away the value of the thing given or make it the less precious to give it +quickly if it be really valuable and worthy of being prized; nay, they are +wont to say that he who gives quickly gives twice.” +</p> +<p> +“They say also,” said Camilla, “that what costs little is valued less.” +</p> +<p> +“That saying does not hold good in your case,” replied Leonela, “for love, +as I have heard say, sometimes flies and sometimes walks; with this one it +runs, with that it moves slowly; some it cools, others it burns; some it +wounds, others it slays; it begins the course of its desires, and at the +same moment completes and ends it; in the morning it will lay siege to a +fortress and by night will have taken it, for there is no power that can +resist it; so what are you in dread of, what do you fear, when the same +must have befallen Lothario, love having chosen the absence of my lord as +the instrument for subduing you? and it was absolutely necessary to +complete then what love had resolved upon, without affording the time to +let Anselmo return and by his presence compel the work to be left +unfinished; for love has no better agent for carrying out his designs than +opportunity; and of opportunity he avails himself in all his feats, +especially at the outset. All this I know well myself, more by experience +than by hearsay, and some day, señora, I will enlighten you on the +subject, for I am of your flesh and blood too. Moreover, lady Camilla, you +did not surrender yourself or yield so quickly but that first you saw +Lothario’s whole soul in his eyes, in his sighs, in his words, his +promises and his gifts, and by it and his good qualities perceived how +worthy he was of your love. This, then, being the case, let not these +scrupulous and prudish ideas trouble your imagination, but be assured that +Lothario prizes you as you do him, and rest content and satisfied that as +you are caught in the noose of love it is one of worth and merit that has +taken you, and one that has not only the four S’s that they say true +lovers ought to have, but a complete alphabet; only listen to me and you +will see how I can repeat it by rote. He is to my eyes and thinking, +Amiable, Brave, Courteous, Distinguished, Elegant, Fond, Gay, Honourable, +Illustrious, Loyal, Manly, Noble, Open, Polite, Quickwitted, Rich, and the +S’s according to the saying, and then Tender, Veracious: X does not suit +him, for it is a rough letter; Y has been given already; and Z Zealous for +your honour.” +</p> +<p> +Camilla laughed at her maid’s alphabet, and perceived her to be more +experienced in love affairs than she said, which she admitted, confessing +to Camilla that she had love passages with a young man of good birth of +the same city. Camilla was uneasy at this, dreading lest it might prove +the means of endangering her honour, and asked whether her intrigue had +gone beyond words, and she with little shame and much effrontery said it +had; for certain it is that ladies’ imprudences make servants shameless, +who, when they see their mistresses make a false step, think nothing of +going astray themselves, or of its being known. All that Camilla could do +was to entreat Leonela to say nothing about her doings to him whom she +called her lover, and to conduct her own affairs secretly lest they should +come to the knowledge of Anselmo or of Lothario. Leonela said she would, +but kept her word in such a way that she confirmed Camilla’s apprehension +of losing her reputation through her means; for this abandoned and bold +Leonela, as soon as she perceived that her mistress’s demeanour was not +what it was wont to be, had the audacity to introduce her lover into the +house, confident that even if her mistress saw him she would not dare to +expose him; for the sins of mistresses entail this mischief among others; +they make themselves the slaves of their own servants, and are obliged to +hide their laxities and depravities; as was the case with Camilla, who +though she perceived, not once but many times, that Leonela was with her +lover in some room of the house, not only did not dare to chide her, but +afforded her opportunities for concealing him and removed all +difficulties, lest he should be seen by her husband. She was unable, +however, to prevent him from being seen on one occasion, as he sallied +forth at daybreak, by Lothario, who, not knowing who he was, at first took +him for a spectre; but, as soon as he saw him hasten away, muffling his +face with his cloak and concealing himself carefully and cautiously, he +rejected this foolish idea, and adopted another, which would have been the +ruin of all had not Camilla found a remedy. It did not occur to Lothario +that this man he had seen issuing at such an untimely hour from Anselmo’s +house could have entered it on Leonela’s account, nor did he even remember +there was such a person as Leonela; all he thought was that as Camilla had +been light and yielding with him, so she had been with another; for this +further penalty the erring woman’s sin brings with it, that her honour is +distrusted even by him to whose overtures and persuasions she has yielded; +and he believes her to have surrendered more easily to others, and gives +implicit credence to every suspicion that comes into his mind. All +Lothario’s good sense seems to have failed him at this juncture; all his +prudent maxims escaped his memory; for without once reflecting rationally, +and without more ado, in his impatience and in the blindness of the +jealous rage that gnawed his heart, and dying to revenge himself upon +Camilla, who had done him no wrong, before Anselmo had risen he hastened +to him and said to him, “Know, Anselmo, that for several days past I have +been struggling with myself, striving to withhold from thee what it is no +longer possible or right that I should conceal from thee. Know that +Camilla’s fortress has surrendered and is ready to submit to my will; and +if I have been slow to reveal this fact to thee, it was in order to see if +it were some light caprice of hers, or if she sought to try me and +ascertain if the love I began to make to her with thy permission was made +with a serious intention. I thought, too, that she, if she were what she +ought to be, and what we both believed her, would have ere this given thee +information of my addresses; but seeing that she delays, I believe the +truth of the promise she has given me that the next time thou art absent +from the house she will grant me an interview in the closet where thy +jewels are kept (and it was true that Camilla used to meet him there); but +I do not wish thee to rush precipitately to take vengeance, for the sin is +as yet only committed in intention, and Camilla’s may change perhaps +between this and the appointed time, and repentance spring up in its +place. As hitherto thou hast always followed my advice wholly or in part, +follow and observe this that I will give thee now, so that, without +mistake, and with mature deliberation, thou mayest satisfy thyself as to +what may seem the best course; pretend to absent thyself for two or three +days as thou hast been wont to do on other occasions, and contrive to hide +thyself in the closet; for the tapestries and other things there afford +great facilities for thy concealment, and then thou wilt see with thine +own eyes and I with mine what Camilla’s purpose may be. And if it be a +guilty one, which may be feared rather than expected, with silence, +prudence, and discretion thou canst thyself become the instrument of +punishment for the wrong done thee.” +</p> +<p> +Anselmo was amazed, overwhelmed, and astounded at the words of Lothario, +which came upon him at a time when he least expected to hear them, for he +now looked upon Camilla as having triumphed over the pretended attacks of +Lothario, and was beginning to enjoy the glory of her victory. He remained +silent for a considerable time, looking on the ground with fixed gaze, and +at length said, “Thou hast behaved, Lothario, as I expected of thy +friendship: I will follow thy advice in everything; do as thou wilt, and +keep this secret as thou seest it should be kept in circumstances so +unlooked for.” +</p> +<p> +Lothario gave him his word, but after leaving him he repented altogether +of what he had said to him, perceiving how foolishly he had acted, as he +might have revenged himself upon Camilla in some less cruel and degrading +way. He cursed his want of sense, condemned his hasty resolution, and knew +not what course to take to undo the mischief or find some ready escape +from it. At last he decided upon revealing all to Camilla, and, as there +was no want of opportunity for doing so, he found her alone the same day; +but she, as soon as she had the chance of speaking to him, said, “Lothario +my friend, I must tell thee I have a sorrow in my heart which fills it so +that it seems ready to burst; and it will be a wonder if it does not; for +the audacity of Leonela has now reached such a pitch that every night she +conceals a gallant of hers in this house and remains with him till +morning, at the expense of my reputation; inasmuch as it is open to anyone +to question it who may see him quitting my house at such unseasonable +hours; but what distresses me is that I cannot punish or chide her, for +her privity to our intrigue bridles my mouth and keeps me silent about +hers, while I am dreading that some catastrophe will come of it.” +</p> +<p> +As Camilla said this Lothario at first imagined it was some device to +delude him into the idea that the man he had seen going out was Leonela’s +lover and not hers; but when he saw how she wept and suffered, and begged +him to help her, he became convinced of the truth, and the conviction +completed his confusion and remorse; however, he told Camilla not to +distress herself, as he would take measures to put a stop to the insolence +of Leonela. At the same time he told her what, driven by the fierce rage +of jealousy, he had said to Anselmo, and how he had arranged to hide +himself in the closet that he might there see plainly how little she +preserved her fidelity to him; and he entreated her pardon for this +madness, and her advice as to how to repair it, and escape safely from the +intricate labyrinth in which his imprudence had involved him. Camilla was +struck with alarm at hearing what Lothario said, and with much anger, and +great good sense, she reproved him and rebuked his base design and the +foolish and mischievous resolution he had made; but as woman has by nature +a nimbler wit than man for good and for evil, though it is apt to fail +when she sets herself deliberately to reason, Camilla on the spur of the +moment thought of a way to remedy what was to all appearance irremediable, +and told Lothario to contrive that the next day Anselmo should conceal +himself in the place he mentioned, for she hoped from his concealment to +obtain the means of their enjoying themselves for the future without any +apprehension; and without revealing her purpose to him entirely she +charged him to be careful, as soon as Anselmo was concealed, to come to +her when Leonela should call him, and to all she said to him to answer as +he would have answered had he not known that Anselmo was listening. +Lothario pressed her to explain her intention fully, so that he might with +more certainty and precaution take care to do what he saw to be needful. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you,” said Camilla, “there is nothing to take care of except to +answer me what I shall ask you;” for she did not wish to explain to him +beforehand what she meant to do, fearing lest he should be unwilling to +follow out an idea which seemed to her such a good one, and should try or +devise some other less practicable plan. +</p> +<p> +Lothario then retired, and the next day Anselmo, under pretence of going +to his friend’s country house, took his departure, and then returned to +conceal himself, which he was able to do easily, as Camilla and Leonela +took care to give him the opportunity; and so he placed himself in hiding +in the state of agitation that it may be imagined he would feel who +expected to see the vitals of his honour laid bare before his eyes, and +found himself on the point of losing the supreme blessing he thought he +possessed in his beloved Camilla. Having made sure of Anselmo’s being in +his hiding-place, Camilla and Leonela entered the closet, and the instant +she set foot within it Camilla said, with a deep sigh, “Ah! dear Leonela, +would it not be better, before I do what I am unwilling you should know +lest you should seek to prevent it, that you should take Anselmo’s dagger +that I have asked of you and with it pierce this vile heart of mine? But +no; there is no reason why I should suffer the punishment of another’s +fault. I will first know what it is that the bold licentious eyes of +Lothario have seen in me that could have encouraged him to reveal to me a +design so base as that which he has disclosed regardless of his friend and +of my honour. Go to the window, Leonela, and call him, for no doubt he is +in the street waiting to carry out his vile project; but mine, cruel it +may be, but honourable, shall be carried out first.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, señora,” said the crafty Leonela, who knew her part, “what is it you +want to do with this dagger? Can it be that you mean to take your own +life, or Lothario’s? for whichever you mean to do, it will lead to the +loss of your reputation and good name. It is better to dissemble your +wrong and not give this wicked man the chance of entering the house now +and finding us alone; consider, señora, we are weak women and he is a man, +and determined, and as he comes with such a base purpose, blind and urged +by passion, perhaps before you can put yours into execution he may do what +will be worse for you than taking your life. Ill betide my master, +Anselmo, for giving such authority in his house to this shameless fellow! +And supposing you kill him, señora, as I suspect you mean to do, what +shall we do with him when he is dead?” +</p> +<p> +“What, my friend?” replied Camilla, “we shall leave him for Anselmo to +bury him; for in reason it will be to him a light labour to hide his own +infamy under ground. Summon him, make haste, for all the time I delay in +taking vengeance for my wrong seems to me an offence against the loyalty I +owe my husband.” +</p> +<p> +Anselmo was listening to all this, and every word that Camilla uttered +made him change his mind; but when he heard that it was resolved to kill +Lothario his first impulse was to come out and show himself to avert such +a disaster; but in his anxiety to see the issue of a resolution so bold +and virtuous he restrained himself, intending to come forth in time to +prevent the deed. At this moment Camilla, throwing herself upon a bed that +was close by, swooned away, and Leonela began to weep bitterly, +exclaiming, “Woe is me! that I should be fated to have dying here in my +arms the flower of virtue upon earth, the crown of true wives, the pattern +of chastity!” with more to the same effect, so that anyone who heard her +would have taken her for the most tender-hearted and faithful handmaid in +the world, and her mistress for another persecuted Penelope. +</p> +<p> +Camilla was not long in recovering from her fainting fit and on coming to +herself she said, “Why do you not go, Leonela, to call hither that friend, +the falsest to his friend the sun ever shone upon or night concealed? +Away, run, haste, speed! lest the fire of my wrath burn itself out with +delay, and the righteous vengeance that I hope for melt away in menaces +and maledictions.” +</p> +<p> +“I am just going to call him, señora,” said Leonela; “but you must first +give me that dagger, lest while I am gone you should by means of it give +cause to all who love you to weep all their lives.” +</p> +<p> +“Go in peace, dear Leonela, I will not do so,” said Camilla, “for rash and +foolish as I may be, to your mind, in defending my honour, I am not going +to be so much so as that Lucretia who they say killed herself without +having done anything wrong, and without having first killed him on whom +the guilt of her misfortune lay. I shall die, if I am to die; but it must +be after full vengeance upon him who has brought me here to weep over +audacity that no fault of mine gave birth to.” +</p> +<p> +Leonela required much pressing before she would go to summon Lothario, but +at last she went, and while awaiting her return Camilla continued, as if +speaking to herself, “Good God! would it not have been more prudent to +have repulsed Lothario, as I have done many a time before, than to allow +him, as I am now doing, to think me unchaste and vile, even for the short +time I must wait until I undeceive him? No doubt it would have been +better; but I should not be avenged, nor the honour of my husband +vindicated, should he find so clear and easy an escape from the strait +into which his depravity has led him. Let the traitor pay with his life +for the temerity of his wanton wishes, and let the world know (if haply it +shall ever come to know) that Camilla not only preserved her allegiance to +her husband, but avenged him of the man who dared to wrong him. Still, I +think it might be better to disclose this to Anselmo. But then I have +called his attention to it in the letter I wrote to him in the country, +and, if he did nothing to prevent the mischief I there pointed out to him, +I suppose it was that from pure goodness of heart and trustfulness he +would not and could not believe that any thought against his honour could +harbour in the breast of so stanch a friend; nor indeed did I myself +believe it for many days, nor should I have ever believed it if his +insolence had not gone so far as to make it manifest by open presents, +lavish promises, and ceaseless tears. But why do I argue thus? Does a bold +determination stand in need of arguments? Surely not. Then traitors +avaunt! Vengeance to my aid! Let the false one come, approach, advance, +die, yield up his life, and then befall what may. Pure I came to him whom +Heaven bestowed upon me, pure I shall leave him; and at the worst bathed +in my own chaste blood and in the foul blood of the falsest friend that +friendship ever saw in the world;” and as she uttered these words she +paced the room holding the unsheathed dagger, with such irregular and +disordered steps, and such gestures that one would have supposed her to +have lost her senses, and taken her for some violent desperado instead of +a delicate woman. +</p> +<p> +Anselmo, concealed behind some tapestries where he had hidden himself, beheld +and was amazed at all, and already felt that what he had seen and heard was a +sufficient answer to even greater suspicions; and he would have been now well +pleased if the proof afforded by Lothario’s coming were dispensed with, +as he feared some sudden mishap; but as he was on the point of showing himself +and coming forth to embrace and undeceive his wife he paused as he saw Leonela +returning, leading Lothario. Camilla when she saw him, drawing a long line in +front of her on the floor with the dagger, said to him, “Lothario, pay +attention to what I say to thee: if by any chance thou darest to cross this +line thou seest, or even approach it, the instant I see thee attempt it that +same instant will I pierce my bosom with this dagger that I hold in my hand; +and before thou answerest me a word I desire thee to listen to a few from me, +and afterwards thou shalt reply as may please thee. First, I desire thee to +tell me, Lothario, if thou knowest my husband Anselmo, and in what light thou +regardest him; and secondly I desire to know if thou knowest me too. Answer me +this, without embarrassment or reflecting deeply what thou wilt answer, for +they are no riddles I put to thee.” +</p> +<p> +Lothario was not so dull but that from the first moment when Camilla +directed him to make Anselmo hide himself he understood what she intended +to do, and therefore he fell in with her idea so readily and promptly that +between them they made the imposture look more true than truth; so he +answered her thus: “I did not think, fair Camilla, that thou wert calling +me to ask questions so remote from the object with which I come; but if it +is to defer the promised reward thou art doing so, thou mightst have put +it off still longer, for the longing for happiness gives the more distress +the nearer comes the hope of gaining it; but lest thou shouldst say that I +do not answer thy questions, I say that I know thy husband Anselmo, and +that we have known each other from our earliest years; I will not speak of +what thou too knowest, of our friendship, that I may not compel myself to +testify against the wrong that love, the mighty excuse for greater errors, +makes me inflict upon him. Thee I know and hold in the same estimation as +he does, for were it not so I had not for a lesser prize acted in +opposition to what I owe to my station and the holy laws of true +friendship, now broken and violated by me through that powerful enemy, +love.” +</p> +<p> +“If thou dost confess that,” returned Camilla, “mortal enemy of all that +rightly deserves to be loved, with what face dost thou dare to come before +one whom thou knowest to be the mirror wherein he is reflected on whom +thou shouldst look to see how unworthily thou wrongest him? But, woe is me, I now +comprehend what has made thee give so little heed to what thou owest to +thyself; it must have been some freedom of mine, for I will not call it +immodesty, as it did not proceed from any deliberate intention, but from +some heedlessness such as women are guilty of through inadvertence when +they think they have no occasion for reserve. But tell me, traitor, when +did I by word or sign give a reply to thy prayers that could awaken in +thee a shadow of hope of attaining thy base wishes? When were not thy +professions of love sternly and scornfully rejected and rebuked? When were +thy frequent pledges and still more frequent gifts believed or accepted? +But as I am persuaded that no one can long persevere in the attempt to win +love unsustained by some hope, I am willing to attribute to myself the +blame of thy assurance, for no doubt some thoughtlessness of mine has all +this time fostered thy hopes; and therefore will I punish myself and +inflict upon myself the penalty thy guilt deserves. And that thou mayest +see that being so relentless to myself I cannot possibly be otherwise to +thee, I have summoned thee to be a witness of the sacrifice I mean to +offer to the injured honour of my honoured husband, wronged by thee with +all the assiduity thou wert capable of, and by me too through want of +caution in avoiding every occasion, if I have given any, of encouraging +and sanctioning thy base designs. Once more I say the suspicion in my mind +that some imprudence of mine has engendered these lawless thoughts in +thee, is what causes me most distress and what I desire most to punish +with my own hands, for were any other instrument of punishment employed my +error might become perhaps more widely known; but before I do so, in my +death I mean to inflict death, and take with me one that will fully +satisfy my longing for the revenge I hope for and have; for I shall see, +wheresoever it may be that I go, the penalty awarded by inflexible, +unswerving justice on him who has placed me in a position so desperate.” +</p> +<p> +As she uttered these words, with incredible energy and swiftness she flew +upon Lothario with the naked dagger, so manifestly bent on burying it in +his breast that he was almost uncertain whether these demonstrations were +real or feigned, for he was obliged to have recourse to all his skill and +strength to prevent her from striking him; and with such reality did she +act this strange farce and mystification that, to give it a colour of +truth, she determined to stain it with her own blood; for perceiving, or +pretending, that she could not wound Lothario, she said, “Fate, it seems, +will not grant my just desire complete satisfaction, but it will not be +able to keep me from satisfying it partially at least;” and making an +effort to free the hand with the dagger which Lothario held in his grasp, +she released it, and directing the point to a place where it could not +inflict a deep wound, she plunged it into her left side high up close to +the shoulder, and then allowed herself to fall to the ground as if in a +faint. +</p> +<p> +Leonela and Lothario stood amazed and astounded at the catastrophe, and +seeing Camilla stretched on the ground and bathed in her blood they were +still uncertain as to the true nature of the act. Lothario, terrified and +breathless, ran in haste to pluck out the dagger; but when he saw how +slight the wound was he was relieved of his fears and once more admired +the subtlety, coolness, and ready wit of the fair Camilla; and the better +to support the part he had to play he began to utter profuse and doleful +lamentations over her body as if she were dead, invoking maledictions not +only on himself but also on him who had been the means of placing him in +such a position: and knowing that his friend Anselmo heard him he spoke in +such a way as to make a listener feel much more pity for him than for +Camilla, even though he supposed her dead. Leonela took her up in her arms +and laid her on the bed, entreating Lothario to go in quest of some one to +attend to her wound in secret, and at the same time asking his advice and +opinion as to what they should say to Anselmo about his lady’s wound if he +should chance to return before it was healed. He replied they might say +what they liked, for he was not in a state to give advice that would be of +any use; all he could tell her was to try and stanch the blood, as he was +going where he should never more be seen; and with every appearance of +deep grief and sorrow he left the house; but when he found himself alone, +and where there was nobody to see him, he crossed himself unceasingly, +lost in wonder at the adroitness of Camilla and the consistent acting of +Leonela. He reflected how convinced Anselmo would be that he had a second +Portia for a wife, and he looked forward anxiously to meeting him in order +to rejoice together over falsehood and truth the most craftily veiled that +could be imagined. +</p> +<p> +Leonela, as he told her, stanched her lady’s blood, which was no more than +sufficed to support her deception; and washing the wound with a little +wine she bound it up to the best of her skill, talking all the time she +was tending her in a strain that, even if nothing else had been said +before, would have been enough to assure Anselmo that he had in Camilla a +model of purity. To Leonela’s words Camilla added her own, calling herself +cowardly and wanting in spirit, since she had not enough at the time she +had most need of it to rid herself of the life she so much loathed. She +asked her attendant’s advice as to whether or not she ought to inform her +beloved husband of all that had happened, but the other bade her say +nothing about it, as she would lay upon him the obligation of taking +vengeance on Lothario, which he could not do but at great risk to himself; +and it was the duty of a true wife not to give her husband provocation to +quarrel, but, on the contrary, to remove it as far as possible from him. +</p> +<p> +Camilla replied that she believed she was right and that she would follow +her advice, but at any rate it would be well to consider how she was to +explain the wound to Anselmo, for he could not help seeing it; to which +Leonela answered that she did not know how to tell a lie even in jest. +</p> +<p> +“How then can I know, my dear?” said Camilla, “for I should not dare to +forge or keep up a falsehood if my life depended on it. If we can think of +no escape from this difficulty, it will be better to tell him the plain +truth than that he should find us out in an untrue story.” +</p> +<p> +“Be not uneasy, señora,” said Leonela; “between this and to-morrow I will +think of what we must say to him, and perhaps the wound being where it is +it can be hidden from his sight, and Heaven will be pleased to aid us in a +purpose so good and honourable. Compose yourself, señora, and endeavour to +calm your excitement lest my lord find you agitated; and leave the rest to +my care and God’s, who always supports good intentions.” +</p> +<p> +Anselmo had with the deepest attention listened to and seen played out the +tragedy of the death of his honour, which the performers acted with such +wonderfully effective truth that it seemed as if they had become the +realities of the parts they played. He longed for night and an opportunity +of escaping from the house to go and see his good friend Lothario, and +with him give vent to his joy over the precious pearl he had gained in +having established his wife’s purity. Both mistress and maid took care to +give him time and opportunity to get away, and taking advantage of it he +made his escape, and at once went in quest of Lothario, and it would be +impossible to describe how he embraced him when he found him, and the +things he said to him in the joy of his heart, and the praises he bestowed +upon Camilla; all which Lothario listened to without being able to show +any pleasure, for he could not forget how deceived his friend was, and how +dishonourably he had wronged him; and though Anselmo could see that +Lothario was not glad, still he imagined it was only because he had left +Camilla wounded and had been himself the cause of it; and so among other +things he told him not to be distressed about Camilla’s accident, for, as +they had agreed to hide it from him, the wound was evidently trifling; and +that being so, he had no cause for fear, but should henceforward be of +good cheer and rejoice with him, seeing that by his means and adroitness +he found himself raised to the greatest height of happiness that he could +have ventured to hope for, and desired no better pastime than making +verses in praise of Camilla that would preserve her name for all time to +come. Lothario commended his purpose, and promised on his own part to aid +him in raising a monument so glorious. +</p> +<p> +And so Anselmo was left the most charmingly hoodwinked man there could be +in the world. He himself, persuaded he was conducting the instrument of +his glory, led home by the hand of him who had been the utter destruction of +his good name; whom Camilla received with averted countenance, though with +smiles in her heart. The deception was carried on for some time, until at +the end of a few months Fortune turned her wheel and the guilt which had +been until then so skilfully concealed was published abroad, and Anselmo +paid with his life the penalty of his ill-advised curiosity. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch35" id="ch35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF THE HEROIC AND PRODIGIOUS BATTLE DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH +CERTAIN SKINS OF RED WINE, AND BRINGS THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED +CURIOSITY” TO A CLOSE +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +There remained but little more of the novel to be read, when Sancho Panza +burst forth in wild excitement from the garret where Don Quixote was +lying, shouting, “Run, sirs! quick; and help my master, who is in the +thick of the toughest and stiffest battle I ever laid eyes on. By the +living God he has given the giant, the enemy of my lady the Princess +Micomicona, such a slash that he has sliced his head clean off as if it +were a turnip.” +</p> +<p> +“What are you talking about, brother?” said the curate, pausing as he was +about to read the remainder of the novel. “Are you in your senses, Sancho? +How the devil can it be as you say, when the giant is two thousand leagues +away?” +</p> +<p> +Here they heard a loud noise in the chamber, and Don Quixote shouting out, +“Stand, thief, brigand, villain; now I have got thee, and thy scimitar +shall not avail thee!” And then it seemed as though he were slashing +vigorously at the wall. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t stop to listen,” said Sancho, “but go in and part them or help my +master: though there is no need of that now, for no doubt the giant is +dead by this time and giving account to God of his past wicked life; for I +saw the blood flowing on the ground, and the head cut off and fallen on +one side, and it is as big as a large wine-skin.” +</p> +<p> +“May I die,” said the landlord at this, “if Don Quixote or Don Devil has +not been slashing some of the skins of red wine that stand full at his +bed’s head, and the spilt wine must be what this good fellow takes for +blood;” and so saying he went into the room and the rest after him, and +there they found Don Quixote in the strangest costume in the world. He was +in his shirt, which was not long enough in front to cover his thighs +completely and was six fingers shorter behind; his legs were very long and +lean, covered with hair, and anything but clean; on his head he had a +little greasy red cap that belonged to the host, round his left arm he had +rolled the blanket of the bed, to which Sancho, for reasons best known to +himself, owed a grudge, and in his right hand he held his unsheathed +sword, with which he was slashing about on all sides, uttering +exclamations as if he were actually fighting some giant: and the best of +it was his eyes were not open, for he was fast asleep, and dreaming that +he was doing battle with the giant. For his imagination was so wrought +upon by the adventure he was going to accomplish, that it made him dream +he had already reached the kingdom of Micomicon, and was engaged in combat +with his enemy; and believing he was laying on the giant, he had given so +many sword cuts to the skins that the whole room was full of wine. On +seeing this the landlord was so enraged that he fell on Don Quixote, and +with his clenched fist began to pummel him in such a way, that if Cardenio +and the curate had not dragged him off, he would have brought the war of +the giant to an end. But in spite of all the poor gentleman never woke +until the barber brought a great pot of cold water from the well and flung +it with one dash all over his body, on which Don Quixote woke up, but not +so completely as to understand what was the matter. Dorothea, seeing how +short and slight his attire was, would not go in to witness the battle +between her champion and her opponent. As for Sancho, he went searching +all over the floor for the head of the giant, and not finding it he said, +“I see now that it’s all enchantment in this house; for the last time, on +this very spot where I am now, I got ever so many thumps without knowing +who gave them to me, or being able to see anybody; and now this head is +not to be seen anywhere about, though I saw it cut off with my own eyes +and the blood running from the body as if from a fountain.” +</p> +<p> +“What blood and fountains are you talking about, enemy of God and his +saints?” said the landlord. “Don’t you see, you thief, that the blood and +the fountain are only these skins here that have been stabbed and the red +wine swimming all over the room?—and I wish I saw the soul of him +that stabbed them swimming in hell.” +</p> +<p> +“I know nothing about that,” said Sancho; “all I know is it will be my bad +luck that through not finding this head my county will melt away like salt +in water;”—for Sancho awake was worse than his master asleep, so +much had his master’s promises addled his wits. +</p> +<p> +The landlord was beside himself at the coolness of the squire and the +mischievous doings of the master, and swore it should not be like the last +time when they went without paying; and that their privileges of chivalry +should not hold good this time to let one or other of them off without +paying, even to the cost of the plugs that would have to be put to the +damaged wine-skins. The curate was holding Don Quixote’s hands, who, +fancying he had now ended the adventure and was in the presence of the +Princess Micomicona, knelt before the curate and said, “Exalted and +beauteous lady, your highness may live from this day forth fearless of any +harm this base being could do you; and I too from this day forth am +released from the promise I gave you, since by the help of God on high and +by the favour of her by whom I live and breathe, I have fulfilled it so +successfully.” +</p> +<p> +“Did not I say so?” said Sancho on hearing this. “You see I wasn’t drunk; +there you see my master has already salted the giant; there’s no doubt +about the bulls; my county is all right!” +</p> +<p> +Who could have helped laughing at the absurdities of the pair, master and +man? And laugh they did, all except the landlord, who cursed himself; but +at length the barber, Cardenio, and the curate contrived with no small +trouble to get Don Quixote on the bed, and he fell asleep with every +appearance of excessive weariness. They left him to sleep, and came out to +the gate of the inn to console Sancho Panza on not having found the head +of the giant; but much more work had they to appease the landlord, who was +furious at the sudden death of his wine-skins; and said the landlady half +scolding, half crying, “At an evil moment and in an unlucky hour he came +into my house, this knight-errant—would that I had never set eyes on +him, for dear he has cost me; the last time he went off with the overnight +score against him for supper, bed, straw, and barley, for himself and his +squire and a hack and an ass, saying he was a knight adventurer—God +send unlucky adventures to him and all the adventurers in the world—and +therefore not bound to pay anything, for it was so settled by the +knight-errantry tariff: and then, all because of him, came the other +gentleman and carried off my tail, and gives it back more than two +cuartillos the worse, all stripped of its hair, so that it is no use for +my husband’s purpose; and then, for a finishing touch to all, to burst my +wine-skins and spill my wine! I wish I saw his own blood spilt! But let +him not deceive himself, for, by the bones of my father and the shade of +my mother, they shall pay me down every quarto; or my name is not what it +is, and I am not my father’s daughter.” All this and more to the same +effect the landlady delivered with great irritation, and her good maid +Maritornes backed her up, while the daughter held her peace and smiled +from time to time. The curate smoothed matters by promising to make good +all losses to the best of his power, not only as regarded the wine-skins +but also the wine, and above all the depreciation of the tail which they +set such store by. Dorothea comforted Sancho, telling him that she pledged +herself, as soon as it should appear certain that his master had +decapitated the giant, and she found herself peacefully established in her +kingdom, to bestow upon him the best county there was in it. With this +Sancho consoled himself, and assured the princess she might rely upon it +that he had seen the head of the giant, and more by token it had a beard +that reached to the girdle, and that if it was not to be seen now it was +because everything that happened in that house went by enchantment, as he +himself had proved the last time he had lodged there. Dorothea said she +fully believed it, and that he need not be uneasy, for all would go well +and turn out as he wished. All therefore being appeased, the curate was +anxious to go on with the novel, as he saw there was but little more left +to read. Dorothea and the others begged him to finish it, and he, as he +was willing to please them, and enjoyed reading it himself, continued the +tale in these words: +</p> +<p> +The result was, that from the confidence Anselmo felt in Camilla’s virtue, +he lived happy and free from anxiety, and Camilla purposely looked coldly +on Lothario, that Anselmo might suppose her feelings towards him to be the +opposite of what they were; and the better to support the position, +Lothario begged to be excused from coming to the house, as the displeasure +with which Camilla regarded his presence was plain to be seen. But the +befooled Anselmo said he would on no account allow such a thing, and so in +a thousand ways he became the author of his own dishonour, while he +believed he was insuring his happiness. Meanwhile the satisfaction with +which Leonela saw herself empowered to carry on her amour reached such a +height that, regardless of everything else, she followed her inclinations +unrestrainedly, feeling confident that her mistress would screen her, and +even show her how to manage it safely. At last one night Anselmo heard +footsteps in Leonela’s room, and on trying to enter to see who it was, he +found that the door was held against him, which made him all the more +determined to open it; and exerting his strength he forced it open, and +entered the room in time to see a man leaping through the window into the +street. He ran quickly to seize him or discover who he was, but he was +unable to effect either purpose, for Leonela flung her arms round him +crying, “Be calm, señor; do not give way to passion or follow him who has +escaped from this; he belongs to me, and in fact he is my husband.” +</p> +<p> +Anselmo would not believe it, but blind with rage drew a dagger and +threatened to stab Leonela, bidding her tell the truth or he would kill +her. She, in her fear, not knowing what she was saying, exclaimed, “Do not +kill me, señor, for I can tell you things more important than any you can +imagine.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me then at once or thou diest,” said Anselmo. +</p> +<p> +“It would be impossible for me now,” said Leonela, “I am so agitated: +leave me till to-morrow, and then you shall hear from me what will fill +you with astonishment; but rest assured that he who leaped through the +window is a young man of this city, who has given me his promise to become +my husband.” +</p> +<p> +Anselmo was appeased with this, and was content to wait the time she asked +of him, for he never expected to hear anything against Camilla, so +satisfied and sure of her virtue was he; and so he quitted the room, and +left Leonela locked in, telling her she should not come out until she had +told him all she had to make known to him. He went at once to see Camilla, +and tell her, as he did, all that had passed between him and her handmaid, +and the promise she had given him to inform him matters of serious +importance. +</p> +<p> +There is no need of saying whether Camilla was agitated or not, for so +great was her fear and dismay, that, making sure, as she had good reason +to do, that Leonela would tell Anselmo all she knew of her faithlessness, +she had not the courage to wait and see if her suspicions were confirmed; +and that same night, as soon as she thought that Anselmo was asleep, she +packed up the most valuable jewels she had and some money, and without +being observed by anybody escaped from the house and betook herself to +Lothario’s, to whom she related what had occurred, imploring him to convey +her to some place of safety or fly with her where they might be safe from +Anselmo. The state of perplexity to which Camilla reduced Lothario was +such that he was unable to utter a word in reply, still less to decide +upon what he should do. At length he resolved to conduct her to a convent +of which a sister of his was prioress; Camilla agreed to this, and with +the speed which the circumstances demanded, Lothario took her to the +convent and left her there, and then himself quitted the city without +letting anyone know of his departure. +</p> +<p> +As soon as daylight came Anselmo, without missing Camilla from his side, +rose eager to learn what Leonela had to tell him, and hastened to the room +where he had locked her in. He opened the door, entered, but found no +Leonela; all he found was some sheets knotted to the window, a plain proof +that she had let herself down from it and escaped. He returned, uneasy, to +tell Camilla, but not finding her in bed or anywhere in the house he was +lost in amazement. He asked the servants of the house about her, but none +of them could give him any explanation. As he was going in search of +Camilla it happened by chance that he observed her boxes were lying open, +and that the greater part of her jewels were gone; and now he became fully +aware of his disgrace, and that Leonela was not the cause of his +misfortune; and, just as he was, without delaying to dress himself +completely, he repaired, sad at heart and dejected, to his friend Lothario +to make known his sorrow to him; but when he failed to find him and the +servants reported that he had been absent from his house all night and had +taken with him all the money he had, he felt as though he were losing his +senses; and to make all complete on returning to his own house he found it +deserted and empty, not one of all his servants, male or female, remaining +in it. He knew not what to think, or say, or do, and his reason seemed to +be deserting him little by little. He reviewed his position, and saw +himself in a moment left without wife, friend, or servants, abandoned, he +felt, by the heaven above him, and more than all robbed of his honour, for +in Camilla’s disappearance he saw his own ruin. After long reflection he +resolved at last to go to his friend’s village, where he had been staying +when he afforded opportunities for the contrivance of this complication of +misfortune. He locked the doors of his house, mounted his horse, and with +a broken spirit set out on his journey; but he had hardly gone half-way +when, harassed by his reflections, he had to dismount and tie his horse to +a tree, at the foot of which he threw himself, giving vent to piteous +heartrending sighs; and there he remained till nearly nightfall, when he +observed a man approaching on horseback from the city, of whom, after +saluting him, he asked what was the news in Florence. +</p> +<p> +The citizen replied, “The strangest that have been heard for many a day; +for it is reported abroad that Lothario, the great friend of the wealthy +Anselmo, who lived at San Giovanni, carried off last night Camilla, the +wife of Anselmo, who also has disappeared. All this has been told by a +maid-servant of Camilla’s, whom the governor found last night lowering +herself by a sheet from the windows of Anselmo’s house. I know not indeed, +precisely, how the affair came to pass; all I know is that the whole city +is wondering at the occurrence, for no one could have expected a thing of +the kind, seeing the great and intimate friendship that existed between +them, so great, they say, that they were called ‘The Two Friends.’” +</p> +<p> +“Is it known at all,” said Anselmo, “what road Lothario and Camilla took?” +</p> +<p> +“Not in the least,” said the citizen, “though the governor has been very +active in searching for them.” +</p> +<p> +“God speed you, señor,” said Anselmo. +</p> +<p> +“God be with you,” said the citizen and went his way. +</p> +<p> +This disastrous intelligence almost robbed Anselmo not only of his senses +but of his life. He got up as well as he was able and reached the house of +his friend, who as yet knew nothing of his misfortune, but seeing him come +pale, worn, and haggard, perceived that he was suffering some heavy +affliction. Anselmo at once begged to be allowed to retire to rest, and to +be given writing materials. His wish was complied with and he was left +lying down and alone, for he desired this, and even that the door should +be locked. Finding himself alone he so took to heart the thought of his +misfortune that by the signs of death he felt within him he knew well his +life was drawing to a close, and therefore he resolved to leave behind him +a declaration of the cause of his strange end. He began to write, but +before he had put down all he meant to say, his breath failed him and he +yielded up his life, a victim to the suffering which his ill-advised +curiosity had entailed upon him. The master of the house observing that it +was now late and that Anselmo did not call, determined to go in and +ascertain if his indisposition was increasing, and found him lying on his +face, his body partly in the bed, partly on the writing-table, on which he +lay with the written paper open and the pen still in his hand. Having +first called to him without receiving any answer, his host approached him, +and taking him by the hand, found that it was cold, and saw that he was +dead. Greatly surprised and distressed he summoned the household to +witness the sad fate which had befallen Anselmo; and then he read the +paper, the handwriting of which he recognised as his, and which contained +these words: +</p> +<p> +“A foolish and ill-advised desire has robbed me of life. If the news of my +death should reach the ears of Camilla, let her know that I forgive her, +for she was not bound to perform miracles, nor ought I to have required +her to perform them; and since I have been the author of my own dishonour, +there is no reason why-” +</p> +<p> +So far Anselmo had written, and thus it was plain that at this point, +before he could finish what he had to say, his life came to an end. The +next day his friend sent intelligence of his death to his relatives, who +had already ascertained his misfortune, as well as the convent where +Camilla lay almost on the point of accompanying her husband on that +inevitable journey, not on account of the tidings of his death, but +because of those she received of her lover’s departure. Although she saw +herself a widow, it is said she refused either to quit the convent or take +the veil, until, not long afterwards, intelligence reached her that +Lothario had been killed in a battle in which M. de Lautrec had been +recently engaged with the Great Captain Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordova in +the kingdom of Naples, whither her too late repentant lover had repaired. +On learning this Camilla took the veil, and shortly afterwards died, worn +out by grief and melancholy. This was the end of all three, an end that +came of a thoughtless beginning. +</p> +<p> +“I like this novel,” said the curate; “but I cannot persuade myself of its +truth; and if it has been invented, the author’s invention is faulty, for +it is impossible to imagine any husband so foolish as to try such a costly +experiment as Anselmo’s. If it had been represented as occurring between a +gallant and his mistress it might pass; but between husband and wife there +is something of an impossibility about it. As to the way in which the +story is told, however, I have no fault to find.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch36" id="ch36"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF MORE CURIOUS INCIDENTS THAT OCCURRED AT THE INN +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c36a" id="c36a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c36a.jpg (124K)" src="images/c36a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c36a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Just at that instant the landlord, who was standing at the gate of the +inn, exclaimed, “Here comes a fine troop of guests; if they stop here we +may say gaudeamus.” +</p> +<p> +“What are they?” said Cardenio. +</p> +<p> +“Four men,” said the landlord, “riding a la jineta, with lances and +bucklers, and all with black veils, and with them there is a woman in +white on a side-saddle, whose face is also veiled, and two attendants on +foot.” +</p> +<p> +“Are they very near?” said the curate. +</p> +<p> +“So near,” answered the landlord, “that here they come.” +</p> +<p> +Hearing this Dorothea covered her face, and Cardenio retreated into Don +Quixote’s room, and they hardly had time to do so before the whole party +the host had described entered the inn, and the four that were on +horseback, who were of highbred appearance and bearing, dismounted, and +came forward to take down the woman who rode on the side-saddle, and one +of them taking her in his arms placed her in a chair that stood at the +entrance of the room where Cardenio had hidden himself. All this time +neither she nor they had removed their veils or spoken a word, only on +sitting down on the chair the woman gave a deep sigh and let her arms fall +like one that was ill and weak. The attendants on foot then led the horses +away to the stable. Observing this the curate, curious to know who these +people in such a dress and preserving such silence were, went to where the +servants were standing and put the question to one of them, who answered +him. +</p> +<p> +“Faith, sir, I cannot tell you who they are, I only know they seem to be +people of distinction, particularly he who advanced to take the lady you +saw in his arms; and I say so because all the rest show him respect, and +nothing is done except what he directs and orders.” +</p> +<p> +“And the lady, who is she?” asked the curate. +</p> +<p> +“That I cannot tell you either,” said the servant, “for I have not seen +her face all the way: I have indeed heard her sigh many times and utter +such groans that she seems to be giving up the ghost every time; but it is +no wonder if we do not know more than we have told you, as my comrade and +I have only been in their company two days, for having met us on the road +they begged and persuaded us to accompany them to Andalusia, promising to +pay us well.” +</p> +<p> +“And have you heard any of them called by his name?” asked the curate. +</p> +<p> +“No, indeed,” replied the servant; “they all preserve a marvellous silence +on the road, for not a sound is to be heard among them except the poor +lady’s sighs and sobs, which make us pity her; and we feel sure that +wherever it is she is going, it is against her will, and as far as one can +judge from her dress she is a nun or, what is more likely, about to become +one; and perhaps it is because taking the vows is not of her own free +will, that she is so unhappy as she seems to be.” +</p> +<p> +“That may well be,” said the curate, and leaving them he returned to where +Dorothea was, who, hearing the veiled lady sigh, moved by natural +compassion drew near to her and said, “What are you suffering from, +señora? If it be anything that women are accustomed and know how to +relieve, I offer you my services with all my heart.” +</p> +<p> +To this the unhappy lady made no reply; and though Dorothea repeated her +offers more earnestly she still kept silence, until the gentleman with the +veil, who, the servant said, was obeyed by the rest, approached and said +to Dorothea, “Do not give yourself the trouble, señora, of making any +offers to that woman, for it is her way to give no thanks for anything +that is done for her; and do not try to make her answer unless you want to +hear some lie from her lips.” +</p> +<p> +“I have never told a lie,” was the immediate reply of her who had been +silent until now; “on the contrary, it is because I am so truthful and so +ignorant of lying devices that I am now in this miserable condition; and +this I call you yourself to witness, for it is my unstained truth that has +made you false and a liar.” +</p> +<p> +Cardenio heard these words clearly and distinctly, being quite close to +the speaker, for there was only the door of Don Quixote’s room between +them, and the instant he did so, uttering a loud exclamation he cried, +“Good God! what is this I hear? What voice is this that has reached my +ears?” Startled at the voice the lady turned her head; and not seeing the +speaker she stood up and attempted to enter the room; observing which the +gentleman held her back, preventing her from moving a step. In her +agitation and sudden movement the silk with which she had covered her face +fell off and disclosed a countenance of incomparable and marvellous +beauty, but pale and terrified; for she kept turning her eyes, everywhere +she could direct her gaze, with an eagerness that made her look as if she +had lost her senses, and so marked that it excited the pity of Dorothea +and all who beheld her, though they knew not what caused it. The gentleman +grasped her firmly by the shoulders, and being so fully occupied with +holding her back, he was unable to put a hand to his veil which was +falling off, as it did at length entirely, and Dorothea, who was holding +the lady in her arms, raising her eyes saw that he who likewise held her +was her husband, Don Fernando. The instant she recognised him, with a +prolonged plaintive cry drawn from the depths of her heart, she fell +backwards fainting, and but for the barber being close by to catch her in +his arms, she would have fallen completely to the ground. The curate at +once hastened to uncover her face and throw water on it, and as he did so +Don Fernando, for he it was who held the other in his arms, recognised her +and stood as if death-stricken by the sight; not, however, relaxing his +grasp of Luscinda, for it was she that was struggling to release herself +from his hold, having recognised Cardenio by his voice, as he had +recognised her. Cardenio also heard Dorothea’s cry as she fell fainting, +and imagining that it came from his Luscinda burst forth in terror from +the room, and the first thing he saw was Don Fernando with Luscinda in his +arms. Don Fernando, too, knew Cardenio at once; and all three, Luscinda, +Cardenio, and Dorothea, stood in silent amazement scarcely knowing what +had happened to them. +</p> +<p> +They gazed at one another without speaking, Dorothea at Don Fernando, Don +Fernando at Cardenio, Cardenio at Luscinda, and Luscinda at Cardenio. The +first to break silence was Luscinda, who thus addressed Don Fernando: +“Leave me, Señor Don Fernando, for the sake of what you owe to yourself; +if no other reason will induce you, leave me to cling to the wall of which +I am the ivy, to the support from which neither your importunities, nor +your threats, nor your promises, nor your gifts have been able to detach +me. See how Heaven, by ways strange and hidden from our sight, has brought +me face to face with my true husband; and well you know by dear-bought +experience that death alone will be able to efface him from my memory. May +this plain declaration, then, lead you, as you can do nothing else, to +turn your love into rage, your affection into resentment, and so to take +my life; for if I yield it up in the presence of my beloved husband I +count it well bestowed; it may be by my death he will be convinced that I +kept my faith to him to the last moment of life.” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Dorothea had come to herself, and had heard Luscinda’s words, by +means of which she divined who she was; but seeing that Don Fernando did +not yet release her or reply to her, summoning up her resolution as well +as she could she rose and knelt at his feet, and with a flood of bright +and touching tears addressed him thus: +</p> +<p> +“If, my lord, the beams of that sun that thou holdest eclipsed in thine +arms did not dazzle and rob thine eyes of sight thou wouldst have seen by +this time that she who kneels at thy feet is, so long as thou wilt have it +so, the unhappy and unfortunate Dorothea. I am that lowly peasant girl +whom thou in thy goodness or for thy pleasure wouldst raise high enough to +call herself thine; I am she who in the seclusion of innocence led a +contented life until at the voice of thy importunity, and thy true and +tender passion, as it seemed, she opened the gates of her modesty and +surrendered to thee the keys of her liberty; a gift received by thee but +thanklessly, as is clearly shown by my forced retreat to the place where +thou dost find me, and by thy appearance under the circumstances in which +I see thee. Nevertheless, I would not have thee suppose that I have come +here driven by my shame; it is only grief and sorrow at seeing myself +forgotten by thee that have led me. It was thy will to make me thine, and +thou didst so follow thy will, that now, even though thou repentest, thou +canst not help being mine. Bethink thee, my lord, the unsurpassable +affection I bear thee may compensate for the beauty and noble birth for +which thou wouldst desert me. Thou canst not be the fair Luscinda’s +because thou art mine, nor can she be thine because she is Cardenio’s; and +it will be easier, remember, to bend thy will to love one who adores thee, +than to lead one to love thee who abhors thee now. Thou didst address +thyself to my simplicity, thou didst lay siege to my virtue, thou wert not +ignorant of my station, well dost thou know how I yielded wholly to thy +will; there is no ground or reason for thee to plead deception, and if it +be so, as it is, and if thou art a Christian as thou art a gentleman, why +dost thou by such subterfuges put off making me as happy at last as thou +didst at first? And if thou wilt not have me for what I am, thy true and +lawful wife, at least take and accept me as thy slave, for so long as I am +thine I will count myself happy and fortunate. Do not by deserting me let +my shame become the talk of the gossips in the streets; make not the old +age of my parents miserable; for the loyal services they as faithful +vassals have ever rendered thine are not deserving of such a return; and +if thou thinkest it will debase thy blood to mingle it with mine, reflect +that there is little or no nobility in the world that has not travelled +the same road, and that in illustrious lineages it is not the woman’s +blood that is of account; and, moreover, that true nobility consists in +virtue, and if thou art wanting in that, refusing me what in justice thou +owest me, then even I have higher claims to nobility than thine. To make +an end, señor, these are my last words to thee: whether thou wilt, or wilt +not, I am thy wife; witness thy words, which must not and ought not to be +false, if thou dost pride thyself on that for want of which thou scornest +me; witness the pledge which thou didst give me, and witness Heaven, which +thou thyself didst call to witness the promise thou hadst made me; and if +all this fail, thy own conscience will not fail to lift up its silent +voice in the midst of all thy gaiety, and vindicate the truth of what I +say and mar thy highest pleasure and enjoyment.” +</p> +<p> +All this and more the injured Dorothea delivered with such earnest feeling +and such tears that all present, even those who came with Don Fernando, +were constrained to join her in them. Don Fernando listened to her without +replying, until, ceasing to speak, she gave way to such sobs and sighs +that it must have been a heart of brass that was not softened by the sight +of so great sorrow. Luscinda stood regarding her with no less compassion +for her sufferings than admiration for her intelligence and beauty, and +would have gone to her to say some words of comfort to her, but was +prevented by Don Fernando’s grasp which held her fast. He, overwhelmed +with confusion and astonishment, after regarding Dorothea for some moments +with a fixed gaze, opened his arms, and, releasing Luscinda, exclaimed: +</p> +<p> +“Thou hast conquered, fair Dorothea, thou hast conquered, for it is +impossible to have the heart to deny the united force of so many truths.” +</p> +<p> +Luscinda in her feebleness was on the point of falling to the ground when +Don Fernando released her, but Cardenio, who stood near, having retreated +behind Don Fernando to escape recognition, casting fear aside and +regardless of what might happen, ran forward to support her, and said as +he clasped her in his arms, “If Heaven in its compassion is willing to let +thee rest at last, mistress of my heart, true, constant, and fair, nowhere +canst thou rest more safely than in these arms that now receive thee, and +received thee before when fortune permitted me to call thee mine.” +</p> +<p> +At these words Luscinda looked up at Cardenio, at first beginning to +recognise him by his voice and then satisfying herself by her eyes that it +was he, and hardly knowing what she did, and heedless of all +considerations of decorum, she flung her arms around his neck and pressing +her face close to his, said, “Yes, my dear lord, you are the true master +of this your slave, even though adverse fate interpose again, and fresh +dangers threaten this life that hangs on yours.” +</p> +<p> +A strange sight was this for Don Fernando and those that stood around, +filled with surprise at an incident so unlooked for. Dorothea fancied that +Don Fernando changed colour and looked as though he meant to take +vengeance on Cardenio, for she observed him put his hand to his sword; and +the instant the idea struck her, with wonderful quickness she clasped him +round the knees, and kissing them and holding him so as to prevent his +moving, she said, while her tears continued to flow, “What is it thou +wouldst do, my only refuge, in this unforeseen event? Thou hast thy wife +at thy feet, and she whom thou wouldst have for thy wife is in the arms of +her husband: reflect whether it will be right for thee, whether it will be +possible for thee to undo what Heaven has done, or whether it will be +becoming in thee to seek to raise her to be thy mate who in spite of every +obstacle, and strong in her truth and constancy, is before thine eyes, +bathing with the tears of love the face and bosom of her lawful husband. +For God’s sake I entreat of thee, for thine own I implore thee, let not +this open manifestation rouse thy anger; but rather so calm it as to allow +these two lovers to live in peace and quiet without any interference from +thee so long as Heaven permits them; and in so doing thou wilt prove the +generosity of thy lofty noble spirit, and the world shall see that with +thee reason has more influence than passion.” +</p> +<p> +All the time Dorothea was speaking, Cardenio, though he held Luscinda in +his arms, never took his eyes off Don Fernando, determined, if he saw him +make any hostile movement, to try and defend himself and resist as best he +could all who might assail him, though it should cost him his life. But +now Don Fernando’s friends, as well as the curate and the barber, who had +been present all the while, not forgetting the worthy Sancho Panza, ran +forward and gathered round Don Fernando, entreating him to have regard for +the tears of Dorothea, and not suffer her reasonable hopes to be +disappointed, since, as they firmly believed, what she said was but the +truth; and bidding him observe that it was not, as it might seem, by +accident, but by a special disposition of Providence that they had all met +in a place where no one could have expected a meeting. And the curate bade +him remember that only death could part Luscinda from Cardenio; that even +if some sword were to separate them they would think their death most +happy; and that in a case that admitted of no remedy his wisest course +was, by conquering and putting a constraint upon himself, to show a +generous mind, and of his own accord suffer these two to enjoy the +happiness Heaven had granted them. He bade him, too, turn his eyes upon +the beauty of Dorothea and he would see that few if any could equal much +less excel her; while to that beauty should be added her modesty and the +surpassing love she bore him. But besides all this, he reminded him that +if he prided himself on being a gentleman and a Christian, he could not do +otherwise than keep his plighted word; and that in doing so he would obey +God and meet the approval of all sensible people, who know and recognised +it to be the privilege of beauty, even in one of humble birth, provided +virtue accompany it, to be able to raise itself to the level of any rank, +without any slur upon him who places it upon an equality with himself; and +furthermore that when the potent sway of passion asserts itself, so long +as there be no mixture of sin in it, he is not to be blamed who gives way +to it. +</p> +<p> +To be brief, they added to these such other forcible arguments that Don +Fernando’s manly heart, being after all nourished by noble blood, was +touched, and yielded to the truth which, even had he wished it, he could +not gainsay; and he showed his submission, and acceptance of the good +advice that had been offered to him, by stooping down and embracing +Dorothea, saying to her, “Rise, dear lady, it is not right that what I +hold in my heart should be kneeling at my feet; and if until now I have +shown no sign of what I own, it may have been by Heaven’s decree in order +that, seeing the constancy with which you love me, I may learn to value +you as you deserve. What I entreat of you is that you reproach me not with +my transgression and grievous wrong-doing; for the same cause and force +that drove me to make you mine impelled me to struggle against being +yours; and to prove this, turn and look at the eyes of the now happy +Luscinda, and you will see in them an excuse for all my errors: and as she +has found and gained the object of her desires, and I have found in you +what satisfies all my wishes, may she live in peace and contentment as +many happy years with her Cardenio, as on my knees I pray Heaven to allow +me to live with my Dorothea;” and with these words he once more embraced +her and pressed his face to hers with so much tenderness that he had to +take great heed to keep his tears from completing the proof of his love +and repentance in the sight of all. Not so Luscinda, and Cardenio, and +almost all the others, for they shed so many tears, some in their own +happiness, some at that of the others, that one would have supposed a +heavy calamity had fallen upon them all. Even Sancho Panza was weeping; +though afterwards he said he only wept because he saw that Dorothea was +not as he fancied the queen Micomicona, of whom he expected such great +favours. Their wonder as well as their weeping lasted some time, and then +Cardenio and Luscinda went and fell on their knees before Don Fernando, +returning him thanks for the favour he had rendered them in language so +grateful that he knew not how to answer them, and raising them up embraced +them with every mark of affection and courtesy. +</p> +<p> +He then asked Dorothea how she had managed to reach a place so far removed +from her own home, and she in a few fitting words told all that she had +previously related to Cardenio, with which Don Fernando and his companions +were so delighted that they wished the story had been longer; so +charmingly did Dorothea describe her misadventures. When she had finished +Don Fernando recounted what had befallen him in the city after he had +found in Luscinda’s bosom the paper in which she declared that she was +Cardenio’s wife, and never could be his. He said he meant to kill her, and +would have done so had he not been prevented by her parents, and that he +quitted the house full of rage and shame, and resolved to avenge himself +when a more convenient opportunity should offer. The next day he learned +that Luscinda had disappeared from her father’s house, and that no one +could tell whither she had gone. Finally, at the end of some months he +ascertained that she was in a convent and meant to remain there all the +rest of her life, if she were not to share it with Cardenio; and as soon +as he had learned this, taking these three gentlemen as his companions, he +arrived at the place where she was, but avoided speaking to her, fearing +that if it were known he was there stricter precautions would be taken in +the convent; and watching a time when the porter’s lodge was open he left +two to guard the gate, and he and the other entered the convent in quest +of Luscinda, whom they found in the cloisters in conversation with one of +the nuns, and carrying her off without giving her time to resist, they +reached a place with her where they provided themselves with what they +required for taking her away; all which they were able to do in complete +safety, as the convent was in the country at a considerable distance from +the city. He added that when Luscinda found herself in his power she lost +all consciousness, and after returning to herself did nothing but weep and +sigh without speaking a word; and thus in silence and tears they reached +that inn, which for him was reaching heaven where all the mischances of +earth are over and at an end. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c36b" id="c36b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c36b.jpg (319K)" src="images/c36b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c36b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c36e" id="c36e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c36e.jpg (36K)" src="images/c36e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch37" id="ch37"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE STORY OF THE FAMOUS PRINCESS MICOMICONA, WITH +OTHER DROLL ADVENTURES +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c37a" id="c37a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c37a.jpg (159K)" src="images/c37a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c37a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +To all this Sancho listened with no little sorrow at heart to see how his +hopes of dignity were fading away and vanishing in smoke, and how the fair +Princess Micomicona had turned into Dorothea, and the giant into Don +Fernando, while his master was sleeping tranquilly, totally unconscious of +all that had come to pass. Dorothea was unable to persuade herself that +her present happiness was not all a dream; Cardenio was in a similar state +of mind, and Luscinda’s thoughts ran in the same direction. Don Fernando +gave thanks to Heaven for the favour shown to him and for having been +rescued from the intricate labyrinth in which he had been brought so near +the destruction of his good name and of his soul; and in short everybody +in the inn was full of contentment and satisfaction at the happy issue of +such a complicated and hopeless business. The curate as a sensible man +made sound reflections upon the whole affair, and congratulated each upon +his good fortune; but the one that was in the highest spirits and good +humour was the landlady, because of the promise Cardenio and the curate +had given her to pay for all the losses and damage she had sustained +through Don Quixote’s means. Sancho, as has been already said, was the +only one who was distressed, unhappy, and dejected; and so with a long +face he went in to his master, who had just awoke, and said to him: +</p> +<p> +“Sir Rueful Countenance, your worship may as well sleep on as much as you +like, without troubling yourself about killing any giant or restoring her +kingdom to the princess; for that is all over and settled now.” +</p> +<p> +“I should think it was,” replied Don Quixote, “for I have had the most +prodigious and stupendous battle with the giant that I ever remember +having had all the days of my life; and with one back-stroke—swish!—I +brought his head tumbling to the ground, and so much blood gushed forth +from him that it ran in rivulets over the earth like water.” +</p> +<p> +“Like red wine, your worship had better say,” replied Sancho; “for I would +have you know, if you don’t know it, that the dead giant is a hacked +wine-skin, and the blood four-and-twenty gallons of red wine that it had +in its belly, and the cut-off head is the bitch that bore me; and the +devil take it all.” +</p> +<p> +“What art thou talking about, fool?” said Don Quixote; “art thou in thy +senses?” +</p> +<p> +“Let your worship get up,” said Sancho, “and you will see the nice +business you have made of it, and what we have to pay; and you will see +the queen turned into a private lady called Dorothea, and other things +that will astonish you, if you understand them.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall not be surprised at anything of the kind,” returned Don Quixote; +“for if thou dost remember the last time we were here I told thee that +everything that happened here was a matter of enchantment, and it would be +no wonder if it were the same now.” +</p> +<p> +“I could believe all that,” replied Sancho, “if my blanketing was the same +sort of thing also; only it wasn’t, but real and genuine; for I saw the +landlord, who is here to-day, holding one end of the blanket and jerking +me up to the skies very neatly and smartly, and with as much laughter as +strength; and when it comes to be a case of knowing people, I hold for my +part, simple and sinner as I am, that there is no enchantment about it at +all, but a great deal of bruising and bad luck.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, well, God will give a remedy,” said Don Quixote; “hand me my +clothes and let me go out, for I want to see these transformations and +things thou speakest of.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho fetched him his clothes; and while he was dressing, the curate gave +Don Fernando and the others present an account of Don Quixote’s madness +and of the stratagem they had made use of to withdraw him from that Pena +Pobre where he fancied himself stationed because of his lady’s scorn. He +described to them also nearly all the adventures that Sancho had +mentioned, at which they marvelled and laughed not a little, thinking it, +as all did, the strangest form of madness a crazy intellect could be +capable of. But now, the curate said, that the lady Dorothea’s good +fortune prevented her from proceeding with their purpose, it would be +necessary to devise or discover some other way of getting him home. +</p> +<p> +Cardenio proposed to carry out the scheme they had begun, and suggested +that Luscinda would act and support Dorothea’s part sufficiently well. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Don Fernando, “that must not be, for I want Dorothea to follow +out this idea of hers; and if the worthy gentleman’s village is not very +far off, I shall be happy if I can do anything for his relief.” +</p> +<p> +“It is not more than two days’ journey from this,” said the curate. +</p> +<p> +“Even if it were more,” said Don Fernando, “I would gladly travel so far +for the sake of doing so good a work.” +</p> +<p> +At this moment Don Quixote came out in full panoply, with Mambrino’s +helmet, all dinted as it was, on his head, his buckler on his arm, and +leaning on his staff or pike. The strange figure he presented filled Don +Fernando and the rest with amazement as they contemplated his lean yellow +face half a league long, his armour of all sorts, and the solemnity of his +deportment. They stood silent waiting to see what he would say, and he, +fixing his eyes on the fair Dorothea, addressed her with great gravity and +composure: +</p> +<p> +“I am informed, fair lady, by my squire here that your greatness has been +annihilated and your being abolished, since, from a queen and lady of high +degree as you used to be, you have been turned into a private maiden. If +this has been done by the command of the magician king your father, +through fear that I should not afford you the aid you need and are +entitled to, I may tell you he did not know and does not know half the +mass, and was little versed in the annals of chivalry; for, if he had read +and gone through them as attentively and deliberately as I have, he would +have found at every turn that knights of less renown than mine have +accomplished things more difficult: it is no great matter to kill a whelp +of a giant, however arrogant he may be; for it is not many hours since I +myself was engaged with one, and—I will not speak of it, that they +may not say I am lying; time, however, that reveals all, will tell the +tale when we least expect it.” +</p> +<p> +“You were engaged with a couple of wine-skins, and not a giant,” said the +landlord at this; but Don Fernando told him to hold his tongue and on no +account interrupt Don Quixote, who continued, “I say in conclusion, high +and disinherited lady, that if your father has brought about this +metamorphosis in your person for the reason I have mentioned, you ought +not to attach any importance to it; for there is no peril on earth through +which my sword will not force a way, and with it, before many days are +over, I will bring your enemy’s head to the ground and place on yours the +crown of your kingdom.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote said no more, and waited for the reply of the princess, who +aware of Don Fernando’s determination to carry on the deception until Don +Quixote had been conveyed to his home, with great ease of manner and +gravity made answer, “Whoever told you, valiant Knight of the Rueful +Countenance, that I had undergone any change or transformation did not +tell you the truth, for I am the same as I was yesterday. It is true that +certain strokes of good fortune, that have given me more than I could have +hoped for, have made some alteration in me; but I have not therefore +ceased to be what I was before, or to entertain the same desire I have had +all through of availing myself of the might of your valiant and invincible +arm. And so, señor, let your goodness reinstate the father that begot me +in your good opinion, and be assured that he was a wise and prudent man, +since by his craft he found out such a sure and easy way of remedying my +misfortune; for I believe, señor, that had it not been for you I should +never have lit upon the good fortune I now possess; and in this I am +saying what is perfectly true; as most of these gentlemen who are present +can fully testify. All that remains is to set out on our journey +to-morrow, for to-day we could not make much way; and for the rest of the +happy result I am looking forward to, I trust to God and the valour of +your heart.” +</p> +<p> +So said the sprightly Dorothea, and on hearing her Don Quixote turned to +Sancho, and said to him, with an angry air, “I declare now, little Sancho, +thou art the greatest little villain in Spain. Say, thief and vagabond, +hast thou not just now told me that this princess had been turned into a +maiden called Dorothea, and that the head which I am persuaded I cut off +from a giant was the bitch that bore thee, and other nonsense that put me +in the greatest perplexity I have ever been in all my life? I vow” (and +here he looked to heaven and ground his teeth) “I have a mind to play the +mischief with thee, in a way that will teach sense for the future to all +lying squires of knights-errant in the world.” +</p> +<p> +“Let your worship be calm, señor,” returned Sancho, “for it may well be +that I have been mistaken as to the change of the lady princess +Micomicona; but as to the giant’s head, or at least as to the piercing of +the wine-skins, and the blood being red wine, I make no mistake, as sure +as there is a God; because the wounded skins are there at the head of your +worship’s bed, and the wine has made a lake of the room; if not you will +see when the eggs come to be fried; I mean when his worship the landlord +calls for all the damages: for the rest, I am heartily glad that her +ladyship the queen is as she was, for it concerns me as much as anyone.” +</p> +<p> +“I tell thee again, Sancho, thou art a fool,” said Don Quixote; “forgive +me, and that will do.” +</p> +<p> +“That will do,” said Don Fernando; “let us say no more about it; and as +her ladyship the princess proposes to set out to-morrow because it is too +late to-day, so be it, and we will pass the night in pleasant +conversation, and to-morrow we will all accompany Señor Don Quixote; for +we wish to witness the valiant and unparalleled achievements he is about +to perform in the course of this mighty enterprise which he has +undertaken.” +</p> +<p> +“It is I who shall wait upon and accompany you,” said Don Quixote; “and I +am much gratified by the favour that is bestowed upon me, and the good +opinion entertained of me, which I shall strive to justify or it shall +cost me my life, or even more, if it can possibly cost me more.” +</p> +<p> +Many were the compliments and expressions of politeness that passed +between Don Quixote and Don Fernando; but they were brought to an end by a +traveller who at this moment entered the inn, and who seemed from his +attire to be a Christian lately come from the country of the Moors, for he +was dressed in a short-skirted coat of blue cloth with half-sleeves and +without a collar; his breeches were also of blue cloth, and his cap of the +same colour, and he wore yellow buskins and had a Moorish cutlass slung +from a baldric across his breast. Behind him, mounted upon an ass, there +came a woman dressed in Moorish fashion, with her face veiled and a scarf +on her head, and wearing a little brocaded cap, and a mantle that covered +her from her shoulders to her feet. The man was of a robust and +well-proportioned frame, in age a little over forty, rather swarthy in +complexion, with long moustaches and a full beard, and, in short, his +appearance was such that if he had been well dressed he would have been +taken for a person of quality and good birth. On entering he asked for a +room, and when they told him there was none in the inn he seemed +distressed, and approaching her who by her dress seemed to be a Moor, he took +her down from the saddle in his arms. Luscinda, Dorothea, the landlady, her +daughter and Maritornes, attracted by the strange, and to them entirely +new costume, gathered round her; and Dorothea, who was always kindly, +courteous, and quick-witted, perceiving that both she and the man who had +brought her were annoyed at not finding a room, said to her, “Do not be +put out, señora, by the discomfort and want of luxuries here, for it is +the way of road-side inns to be without them; still, if you will be +pleased to share our lodging with us (pointing to Luscinda) perhaps you +will have found worse accommodation in the course of your journey.” +</p> +<p> +To this the veiled lady made no reply; all she did was to rise from her +seat, crossing her hands upon her bosom, bowing her head and bending her +body as a sign that she returned thanks. From her silence they concluded +that she must be a Moor and unable to speak a Christian tongue. +</p> +<p> +At this moment the captive came up, having been until now otherwise +engaged, and seeing that they all stood round his companion and that she +made no reply to what they addressed to her, he said, “Ladies, this damsel +hardly understands my language and can speak none but that of her own +country, for which reason she does not and cannot answer what has been +asked of her.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing has been asked of her,” returned Luscinda; “she has only been +offered our company for this evening and a share of the quarters we +occupy, where she shall be made as comfortable as the circumstances allow, +with the good-will we are bound to show all strangers that stand in need +of it, especially if it be a woman to whom the service is rendered.” +</p> +<p> +“On her part and my own, señora,” replied the captive, “I kiss your hands, +and I esteem highly, as I ought, the favour you have offered, which, on +such an occasion and coming from persons of your appearance, is, it is +plain to see, a very great one.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, señor,” said Dorothea, “is this lady a Christian or a Moor? for +her dress and her silence lead us to imagine that she is what we could +wish she was not.” +</p> +<p> +“In dress and outwardly,” said he, “she is a Moor, but at heart she is a +thoroughly good Christian, for she has the greatest desire to become one.” +</p> +<p> +“Then she has not been baptised?” returned Luscinda. +</p> +<p> +“There has been no opportunity for that,” replied the captive, “since she +left Algiers, her native country and home; and up to the present she has +not found herself in any such imminent danger of death as to make it +necessary to baptise her before she has been instructed in all the +ceremonies our holy mother Church ordains; but, please God, ere long she +shall be baptised with the solemnity befitting her which is higher than +her dress or mine indicates.” +</p> +<p> +By these words he excited a desire in all who heard him, to know who the +Moorish lady and the captive were, but no one liked to ask just then, +seeing that it was a fitter moment for helping them to rest themselves +than for questioning them about their lives. Dorothea took the Moorish +lady by the hand and leading her to a seat beside herself, requested her +to remove her veil. She looked at the captive as if to ask him what they +meant and what she was to do. He said to her in Arabic that they asked her +to take off her veil, and thereupon she removed it and disclosed a +countenance so lovely, that to Dorothea she seemed more beautiful than +Luscinda, and to Luscinda more beautiful than Dorothea, and all the +bystanders felt that if any beauty could compare with theirs it was the +Moorish lady’s, and there were even those who were inclined to give it +somewhat the preference. And as it is the privilege and charm of beauty to +win the heart and secure good-will, all forthwith became eager to show +kindness and attention to the lovely Moor. +</p> +<p> +Don Fernando asked the captive what her name was, and he replied that it +was Lela Zoraida; but the instant she heard him, she guessed what the +Christian had asked, and said hastily, with some displeasure and energy, +“No, not Zoraida; Maria, Maria!” giving them to understand that she was +called “Maria” and not “Zoraida.” These words, and the touching +earnestness with which she uttered them, drew more than one tear from some +of the listeners, particularly the women, who are by nature tender-hearted +and compassionate. Luscinda embraced her affectionately, saying, “Yes, +yes, Maria, Maria,” to which the Moor replied, “Yes, yes, Maria; Zoraida +macange,” which means “not Zoraida.” +</p> +<p> +Night was now approaching, and by the orders of those who accompanied Don +Fernando the landlord had taken care and pains to prepare for them the +best supper that was in his power. The hour therefore having arrived they +all took their seats at a long table like a refectory one, for round or +square table there was none in the inn, and the seat of honour at the head +of it, though he was for refusing it, they assigned to Don Quixote, who +desired the lady Micomicona to place herself by his side, as he was her +protector. Luscinda and Zoraida took their places next her, opposite to +them were Don Fernando and Cardenio, and next the captive and the other +gentlemen, and by the side of the ladies, the curate and the barber. And +so they supped in high enjoyment, which was increased when they observed +Don Quixote leave off eating, and, moved by an impulse like that which +made him deliver himself at such length when he supped with the goatherds, +begin to address them: +</p> +<p> +“Verily, gentlemen, if we reflect upon it, great and marvellous are the +things they see, who make profession of the order of knight-errantry. Say, +what being is there in this world, who entering the gate of this castle at +this moment, and seeing us as we are here, would suppose or imagine us to +be what we are? Who would say that this lady who is beside me was the +great queen that we all know her to be, or that I am that Knight of the +Rueful Countenance, trumpeted far and wide by the mouth of Fame? Now, +there can be no doubt that this art and calling surpasses all those that +mankind has invented, and is the more deserving of being held in honour in +proportion as it is the more exposed to peril. Away with those who assert +that letters have the preeminence over arms; I will tell them, whosoever +they may be, that they know not what they say. For the reason which such +persons commonly assign, and upon which they chiefly rest, is, that the +labours of the mind are greater than those of the body, and that arms give +employment to the body alone; as if the calling were a porter’s trade, for +which nothing more is required than sturdy strength; or as if, in what we +who profess them call arms, there were not included acts of vigour for the +execution of which high intelligence is requisite; or as if the soul of +the warrior, when he has an army, or the defence of a city under his care, +did not exert itself as much by mind as by body. Nay; see whether by +bodily strength it be possible to learn or divine the intentions of the +enemy, his plans, stratagems, or obstacles, or to ward off impending +mischief; for all these are the work of the mind, and in them the body has +no share whatever. Since, therefore, arms have need of the mind, as much +as letters, let us see now which of the two minds, that of the man of +letters or that of the warrior, has most to do; and this will be seen by +the end and goal that each seeks to attain; for that purpose is the more +estimable which has for its aim the nobler object. The end and goal of +letters—I am not speaking now of divine letters, the aim of which is +to raise and direct the soul to Heaven; for with an end so infinite no +other can be compared—I speak of human letters, the end of which is +to establish distributive justice, give to every man that which is his, +and see and take care that good laws are observed: an end undoubtedly +noble, lofty, and deserving of high praise, but not such as should be +given to that sought by arms, which have for their end and object peace, +the greatest boon that men can desire in this life. The first good news +the world and mankind received was that which the angels announced on the +night that was our day, when they sang in the air, ‘Glory to God in the +highest, and peace on earth to men of good-will;’ and the salutation which +the great Master of heaven and earth taught his disciples and chosen +followers when they entered any house, was to say, ‘Peace be on this +house;’ and many other times he said to them, ‘My peace I give unto you, +my peace I leave you, peace be with you;’ a jewel and a precious gift +given and left by such a hand: a jewel without which there can be no +happiness either on earth or in heaven. This peace is the true end of war; +and war is only another name for arms. This, then, being admitted, that +the end of war is peace, and that so far it has the advantage of the end +of letters, let us turn to the bodily labours of the man of letters, and +those of him who follows the profession of arms, and see which are the +greater.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote delivered his discourse in such a manner and in such correct +language, that for the time being he made it impossible for any of his +hearers to consider him a madman; on the contrary, as they were mostly +gentlemen, to whom arms are an appurtenance by birth, they listened to him +with great pleasure as he continued: “Here, then, I say is what the +student has to undergo; first of all poverty: not that all are poor, but +to put the case as strongly as possible: and when I have said that he +endures poverty, I think nothing more need be said about his hard fortune, +for he who is poor has no share of the good things of life. This poverty +he suffers from in various ways, hunger, or cold, or nakedness, or all +together; but for all that it is not so extreme but that he gets something +to eat, though it may be at somewhat unseasonable hours and from the +leavings of the rich; for the greatest misery of the student is what they +themselves call ‘going out for soup,’ and there is always some neighbour’s +brazier or hearth for them, which, if it does not warm, at least tempers +the cold to them, and lastly, they sleep comfortably at night under a +roof. I will not go into other particulars, as for example want of shirts, +and no superabundance of shoes, thin and threadbare garments, and gorging +themselves to surfeit in their voracity when good luck has treated them to +a banquet of some sort. By this road that I have described, rough and +hard, stumbling here, falling there, getting up again to fall again, they +reach the rank they desire, and that once attained, we have seen many who +have passed these Syrtes and Scyllas and Charybdises, as if borne flying +on the wings of favouring fortune; we have seen them, I say, ruling and +governing the world from a chair, their hunger turned into satiety, their +cold into comfort, their nakedness into fine raiment, their sleep on a mat +into repose in holland and damask, the justly earned reward of their +virtue; but, contrasted and compared with what the warrior undergoes, all +they have undergone falls far short of it, as I am now about to show.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c37e" id="c37e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c37e.jpg (13K)" src="images/c37e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch38" id="ch38"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE DON QUIXOTE DELIVERED ON ARMS AND +LETTERS +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c38a" id="c38a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c38a.jpg (180K)" src="images/c38a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c38a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Continuing his discourse Don Quixote said: “As we began in the student’s +case with poverty and its accompaniments, let us see now if the soldier is +richer, and we shall find that in poverty itself there is no one poorer; +for he is dependent on his miserable pay, which comes late or never, or +else on what he can plunder, seriously imperilling his life and +conscience; and sometimes his nakedness will be so great that a slashed +doublet serves him for uniform and shirt, and in the depth of winter he +has to defend himself against the inclemency of the weather in the open +field with nothing better than the breath of his mouth, which I need not +say, coming from an empty place, must come out cold, contrary to the laws +of nature. To be sure he looks forward to the approach of night to make up +for all these discomforts on the bed that awaits him, which, unless by +some fault of his, never sins by being over narrow, for he can easily +measure out on the ground as he likes, and roll himself about in it to his +heart’s content without any fear of the sheets slipping away from him. +Then, after all this, suppose the day and hour for taking his degree in +his calling to have come; suppose the day of battle to have arrived, when +they invest him with the doctor’s cap made of lint, to mend some +bullet-hole, perhaps, that has gone through his temples, or left him with +a crippled arm or leg. Or if this does not happen, and merciful Heaven +watches over him and keeps him safe and sound, it may be he will be in the +same poverty he was in before, and he must go through more engagements and +more battles, and come victorious out of all before he betters himself; +but miracles of that sort are seldom seen. For tell me, sirs, if you have +ever reflected upon it, by how much do those who have gained by war fall +short of the number of those who have perished in it? No doubt you will +reply that there can be no comparison, that the dead cannot be numbered, +while the living who have been rewarded may be summed up with three +figures. All which is the reverse in the case of men of letters; for by +skirts, to say nothing of sleeves, they all find means of support; so that +though the soldier has more to endure, his reward is much less. But +against all this it may be urged that it is easier to reward two thousand +soldiers, for the former may be remunerated by giving them places, which +must perforce be conferred upon men of their calling, while the latter can +only be recompensed out of the very property of the master they serve; but +this impossibility only strengthens my argument. +</p> +<p> +“Putting this, however, aside, for it is a puzzling question for which it +is difficult to find a solution, let us return to the superiority of arms +over letters, a matter still undecided, so many are the arguments put +forward on each side; for besides those I have mentioned, letters say that +without them arms cannot maintain themselves, for war, too, has its laws +and is governed by them, and laws belong to the domain of letters and men +of letters. To this arms make answer that without them laws cannot be +maintained, for by arms states are defended, kingdoms preserved, cities +protected, roads made safe, seas cleared of pirates; and, in short, if it +were not for them, states, kingdoms, monarchies, cities, ways by sea and +land would be exposed to the violence and confusion which war brings with +it, so long as it lasts and is free to make use of its privileges and +powers. And then it is plain that whatever costs most is valued and +deserves to be valued most. To attain to eminence in letters costs a man +time, watching, hunger, nakedness, headaches, indigestions, and other +things of the sort, some of which I have already referred to. But for a +man to come in the ordinary course of things to be a good soldier costs +him all the student suffers, and in an incomparably higher degree, for at +every step he runs the risk of losing his life. For what dread of want or +poverty that can reach or harass the student can compare with what the +soldier feels, who finds himself beleaguered in some stronghold mounting +guard in some ravelin or cavalier, knows that the enemy is pushing a mine +towards the post where he is stationed, and cannot under any circumstances +retire or fly from the imminent danger that threatens him? All he can do +is to inform his captain of what is going on so that he may try to remedy +it by a counter-mine, and then stand his ground in fear and expectation of +the moment when he will fly up to the clouds without wings and descend +into the deep against his will. And if this seems a trifling risk, let us +see whether it is equalled or surpassed by the encounter of two galleys +stem to stem, in the midst of the open sea, locked and entangled one with +the other, when the soldier has no more standing room than two feet of the +plank of the spur; and yet, though he sees before him threatening him as +many ministers of death as there are cannon of the foe pointed at him, not +a lance length from his body, and sees too that with the first heedless +step he will go down to visit the profundities of Neptune’s bosom, still +with dauntless heart, urged on by honour that nerves him, he makes himself +a target for all that musketry, and struggles to cross that narrow path to +the enemy’s ship. And what is still more marvellous, no sooner has one +gone down into the depths he will never rise from till the end of the +world, than another takes his place; and if he too falls into the sea that +waits for him like an enemy, another and another will succeed him without +a moment’s pause between their deaths: courage and daring the greatest +that all the chances of war can show. Happy the blest ages that knew not +the dread fury of those devilish engines of artillery, whose inventor I am +persuaded is in hell receiving the reward of his diabolical invention, by +which he made it easy for a base and cowardly arm to take the life of a +gallant gentleman; and that, when he knows not how or whence, in the +height of the ardour and enthusiasm that fire and animate brave hearts, +there should come some random bullet, discharged perhaps by one who fled +in terror at the flash when he fired off his accursed machine, which in an +instant puts an end to the projects and cuts off the life of one who +deserved to live for ages to come. And thus when I reflect on this, I am +almost tempted to say that in my heart I repent of having adopted this +profession of knight-errant in so detestable an age as we live in now; for +though no peril can make me fear, still it gives me some uneasiness to +think that powder and lead may rob me of the opportunity of making myself +famous and renowned throughout the known earth by the might of my arm and +the edge of my sword. But Heaven’s will be done; if I succeed in my +attempt I shall be all the more honoured, as I have faced greater dangers +than the knights-errant of yore exposed themselves to.” +</p> +<p> +All this lengthy discourse Don Quixote delivered while the others supped, +forgetting to raise a morsel to his lips, though Sancho more than once +told him to eat his supper, as he would have time enough afterwards to say +all he wanted. It excited fresh pity in those who had heard him to see a +man of apparently sound sense, and with rational views on every subject he +discussed, so hopelessly wanting in all, when his wretched unlucky +chivalry was in question. The curate told him he was quite right in all he +had said in favour of arms, and that he himself, though a man of letters +and a graduate, was of the same opinion. +</p> +<p> +They finished their supper, the cloth was removed, and while the hostess, her +daughter, and Maritornes were getting Don Quixote of La Mancha’s garret +ready, in which it was arranged that the women were to be quartered by +themselves for the night, Don Fernando begged the captive to tell them the +story of his life, for it could not fail to be strange and interesting, to +judge by the hints he had let fall on his arrival in company with Zoraida. To +this the captive replied that he would very willingly yield to his request, +only he feared his tale would not give them as much pleasure as he wished; +nevertheless, not to be wanting in compliance, he would tell it. The curate and +the others thanked him and added their entreaties, and he finding himself so +pressed said there was no occasion to ask, where a command had such weight, and +added, “If your worships will give me your attention you will hear a true +story which, perhaps, fictitious ones constructed with ingenious and studied +art cannot come up to.” These words made them settle themselves in their +places and preserve a deep silence, and he seeing them waiting on his words in +mute expectation, began thus in a pleasant quiet voice. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c38e" id="c38e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c38e.jpg (18K)" src="images/c38e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch39" id="ch39"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHEREIN THE CAPTIVE RELATES HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c39a" id="c39a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c39a.jpg (137K)" src="images/c39a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c39a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +My family had its origin in a village in the mountains of Leon, and nature +had been kinder and more generous to it than fortune; though in the +general poverty of those communities my father passed for being even a +rich man; and he would have been so in reality had he been as clever in +preserving his property as he was in spending it. This tendency of his to +be liberal and profuse he had acquired from having been a soldier in his +youth, for the soldier’s life is a school in which the niggard becomes +free-handed and the free-handed prodigal; and if any soldiers are to be +found who are misers, they are monsters of rare occurrence. My father went +beyond liberality and bordered on prodigality, a disposition by no means +advantageous to a married man who has children to succeed to his name and +position. My father had three, all sons, and all of sufficient age to make +choice of a profession. Finding, then, that he was unable to resist his +propensity, he resolved to divest himself of the instrument and cause of +his prodigality and lavishness, to divest himself of wealth, without which +Alexander himself would have seemed parsimonious; and so calling us all +three aside one day into a room, he addressed us in words somewhat to the +following effect: +</p> +<p> +“My sons, to assure you that I love you, no more need be known or said +than that you are my sons; and to encourage a suspicion that I do not love +you, no more is needed than the knowledge that I have no self-control as +far as preservation of your patrimony is concerned; therefore, that you +may for the future feel sure that I love you like a father, and have no +wish to ruin you like a stepfather, I propose to do with you what I have +for some time back meditated, and after mature deliberation decided upon. +You are now of an age to choose your line of life or at least make choice +of a calling that will bring you honour and profit when you are older; and +what I have resolved to do is to divide my property into four parts; three +I will give to you, to each his portion without making any difference, and +the other I will retain to live upon and support myself for whatever +remainder of life Heaven may be pleased to grant me. But I wish each of +you on taking possession of the share that falls to him to follow one of +the paths I shall indicate. In this Spain of ours there is a proverb, to +my mind very true—as they all are, being short aphorisms drawn from +long practical experience—and the one I refer to says, ‘The church, +or the sea, or the king’s house;’ as much as to say, in plainer language, +whoever wants to flourish and become rich, let him follow the church, or +go to sea, adopting commerce as his calling, or go into the king’s service +in his household, for they say, ‘Better a king’s crumb than a lord’s +favour.’ I say so because it is my will and pleasure that one of you +should follow letters, another trade, and the third serve the king in the +wars, for it is a difficult matter to gain admission to his service in his +household, and if war does not bring much wealth it confers great +distinction and fame. Eight days hence I will give you your full shares in +money, without defrauding you of a farthing, as you will see in the end. +Now tell me if you are willing to follow out my idea and advice as I have +laid it before you.” +</p> +<p> +Having called upon me as the eldest to answer, I, after urging him not to +strip himself of his property but to spend it all as he pleased, for we +were young men able to gain our living, consented to comply with his +wishes, and said that mine were to follow the profession of arms and +thereby serve God and my king. My second brother having made the same +proposal, decided upon going to the Indies, embarking the portion that +fell to him in trade. The youngest, and in my opinion the wisest, said he +would rather follow the church, or go to complete his studies at +Salamanca. As soon as we had come to an understanding, and made choice of +our professions, my father embraced us all, and in the short time he +mentioned carried into effect all he had promised; and when he had given +to each his share, which as well as I remember was three thousand ducats +apiece in cash (for an uncle of ours bought the estate and paid for it +down, not to let it go out of the family), we all three on the same day +took leave of our good father; and at the same time, as it seemed to me +inhuman to leave my father with such scanty means in his old age, I +induced him to take two of my three thousand ducats, as the remainder +would be enough to provide me with all a soldier needed. My two brothers, +moved by my example, gave him each a thousand ducats, so that there was +left for my father four thousand ducats in money, besides three thousand, +the value of the portion that fell to him which he preferred to retain in +land instead of selling it. Finally, as I said, we took leave of him, and +of our uncle whom I have mentioned, not without sorrow and tears on both +sides, they charging us to let them know whenever an opportunity offered +how we fared, whether well or ill. We promised to do so, and when he had +embraced us and given us his blessing, one set out for Salamanca, the +other for Seville, and I for Alicante, where I had heard there was a +Genoese vessel taking in a cargo of wool for Genoa. +</p> +<p> +It is now some twenty-two years since I left my father’s house, and all +that time, though I have written several letters, I have had no news whatever +of him or of my brothers; my own adventures during that period I will now +relate briefly. I embarked at Alicante, reached Genoa after a prosperous +voyage, and proceeded thence to Milan, where I provided myself with arms and a +few soldier’s accoutrements; thence it was my intention to go and take +service in Piedmont, but as I was already on the road to Alessandria della +Paglia, I learned that the great Duke of Alva was on his way to Flanders. I +changed my plans, joined him, served under him in the campaigns he made, was +present at the deaths of the Counts Egmont and Horn, and was promoted to be +ensign under a famous captain of Guadalajara, Diego de Urbina by name. Some +time after my arrival in Flanders news came of the league that his Holiness +Pope Pius V of happy memory, had made with Venice and Spain against the common +enemy, the Turk, who had just then with his fleet taken the famous island of +Cyprus, which belonged to the Venetians, a loss deplorable and disastrous. It +was known as a fact that the Most Serene Don John of Austria, natural brother +of our good king Don Philip, was coming as commander-in-chief of the allied +forces, and rumours were abroad of the vast warlike preparations which were +being made, all which stirred my heart and filled me with a longing to take +part in the campaign which was expected; and though I had reason to believe, +and almost certain promises, that on the first opportunity that presented +itself I should be promoted to be captain, I preferred to leave all and betake +myself, as I did, to Italy; and it was my good fortune that Don John had just +arrived at Genoa, and was going on to Naples to join the Venetian fleet, as he +afterwards did at Messina. I may say, in short, that I took part in that +glorious expedition, promoted by this time to be a captain of infantry, to +which honourable charge my good luck rather than my merits raised me; and that +day—so fortunate for Christendom, because then all the nations of the +earth were disabused of the error under which they lay in imagining the Turks +to be invincible on sea—on that day, I say, on which the Ottoman pride +and arrogance were broken, among all that were there made happy (for the +Christians who died that day were happier than those who remained alive and +victorious) I alone was miserable; for, instead of some naval crown that I +might have expected had it been in Roman times, on the night that followed that +famous day I found myself with fetters on my feet and manacles on my hands. +</p> +<p> +It happened in this way: El Uchali, the king of Algiers, a daring and +successful corsair, having attacked and taken the leading Maltese galley +(only three knights being left alive in it, and they badly wounded), the +chief galley of John Andrea, on board of which I and my company were +placed, came to its relief, and doing as was bound to do in such a case, I +leaped on board the enemy’s galley, which, sheering off from that which +had attacked it, prevented my men from following me, and so I found myself +alone in the midst of my enemies, who were in such numbers that I was +unable to resist; in short I was taken, covered with wounds; El Uchali, as +you know, sirs, made his escape with his entire squadron, and I was left a +prisoner in his power, the only sad being among so many filled with joy, +and the only captive among so many free; for there were fifteen thousand +Christians, all at the oar in the Turkish fleet, that regained their +longed-for liberty that day. +</p> +<p> +They carried me to Constantinople, where the Grand Turk, Selim, made my +master general at sea for having done his duty in the battle and carried +off as evidence of his bravery the standard of the Order of Malta. The +following year, which was the year seventy-two, I found myself at Navarino +rowing in the leading galley with the three lanterns. There I saw and +observed how the opportunity of capturing the whole Turkish fleet in +harbour was lost; for all the marines and janizzaries that belonged to it +made sure that they were about to be attacked inside the very harbour, and +had their kits and pasamaques, or shoes, ready to flee at once on shore +without waiting to be assailed, in so great fear did they stand of our +fleet. But Heaven ordered it otherwise, not for any fault or neglect of +the general who commanded on our side, but for the sins of Christendom, +and because it was God’s will and pleasure that we should always have +instruments of punishment to chastise us. As it was, El Uchali took refuge +at Modon, which is an island near Navarino, and landing forces fortified +the mouth of the harbour and waited quietly until Don John retired. On +this expedition was taken the galley called the Prize, whose captain was a +son of the famous corsair Barbarossa. It was taken by the chief Neapolitan +galley called the She-wolf, commanded by that thunderbolt of war, that +father of his men, that successful and unconquered captain Don Alvaro de +Bazan, Marquis of Santa Cruz; and I cannot help telling you what took +place at the capture of the Prize. +</p> +<p> +The son of Barbarossa was so cruel, and treated his slaves so badly, that, +when those who were at the oars saw that the She-wolf galley was bearing +down upon them and gaining upon them, they all at once dropped their oars +and seized their captain who stood on the stage at the end of the gangway +shouting to them to row lustily; and passing him on from bench to bench, +from the poop to the prow, they so bit him that before he had got much +past the mast his soul had already got to hell; so great, as I said, was +the cruelty with which he treated them, and the hatred with which they +hated him. +</p> +<p> +We returned to Constantinople, and the following year, seventy-three, it +became known that Don John had seized Tunis and taken the kingdom from the +Turks, and placed Muley Hamet in possession, putting an end to the hopes +which Muley Hamida, the cruelest and bravest Moor in the world, +entertained of returning to reign there. The Grand Turk took the loss +greatly to heart, and with the cunning which all his race possess, he made +peace with the Venetians (who were much more eager for it than he was), +and the following year, seventy-four, he attacked the Goletta and the fort +which Don John had left half built near Tunis. While all these events were +occurring, I was labouring at the oar without any hope of freedom; at +least I had no hope of obtaining it by ransom, for I was firmly resolved +not to write to my father telling him of my misfortunes. At length the +Goletta fell, and the fort fell, before which places there were +seventy-five thousand regular Turkish soldiers, and more than four hundred +thousand Moors and Arabs from all parts of Africa, and in the train of all +this great host such munitions and engines of war, and so many pioneers +that with their hands they might have covered the Goletta and the fort +with handfuls of earth. The first to fall was the Goletta, until then +reckoned impregnable, and it fell, not by any fault of its defenders, who +did all that they could and should have done, but because experiment +proved how easily entrenchments could be made in the desert sand there; +for water used to be found at two palms depth, while the Turks found none +at two yards; and so by means of a quantity of sandbags they raised their +works so high that they commanded the walls of the fort, sweeping them as +if from a cavalier, so that no one was able to make a stand or maintain +the defence. +</p> +<p> +It was a common opinion that our men should not have shut themselves up in +the Goletta, but should have waited in the open at the landing-place; but +those who say so talk at random and with little knowledge of such matters; +for if in the Goletta and in the fort there were barely seven thousand +soldiers, how could such a small number, however resolute, sally out and +hold their own against numbers like those of the enemy? And how is it +possible to help losing a stronghold that is not relieved, above all when +surrounded by a host of determined enemies in their own country? But many +thought, and I thought so too, that it was special favour and mercy which +Heaven showed to Spain in permitting the destruction of that source and +hiding place of mischief, that devourer, sponge, and moth of countless +money, fruitlessly wasted there to no other purpose save preserving the +memory of its capture by the invincible Charles V; as if to make that +eternal, as it is and will be, these stones were needed to support it. The +fort also fell; but the Turks had to win it inch by inch, for the soldiers +who defended it fought so gallantly and stoutly that the number of the +enemy killed in twenty-two general assaults exceeded twenty-five thousand. +Of three hundred that remained alive not one was taken unwounded, a clear +and manifest proof of their gallantry and resolution, and how sturdily +they had defended themselves and held their post. A small fort or tower +which was in the middle of the lagoon under the command of Don Juan +Zanoguera, a Valencian gentleman and a famous soldier, capitulated upon +terms. They took prisoner Don Pedro Puertocarrero, commandant of the +Goletta, who had done all in his power to defend his fortress, and took +the loss of it so much to heart that he died of grief on the way to +Constantinople, where they were carrying him a prisoner. They also took +the commandant of the fort, Gabrio Cerbellon by name, a Milanese +gentleman, a great engineer and a very brave soldier. In these two +fortresses perished many persons of note, among whom was Pagano Doria, +knight of the Order of St. John, a man of generous disposition, as was +shown by his extreme liberality to his brother, the famous John Andrea +Doria; and what made his death the more sad was that he was slain by some +Arabs to whom, seeing that the fort was now lost, he entrusted himself, +and who offered to conduct him in the disguise of a Moor to Tabarca, a +small fort or station on the coast held by the Genoese employed in the +coral fishery. These Arabs cut off his head and carried it to the +commander of the Turkish fleet, who proved on them the truth of our +Castilian proverb, that “though the treason may please, the traitor is +hated;” for they say he ordered those who brought him the present to be +hanged for not having brought him alive. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c39b" id="c39b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c39b.jpg (371K)" src="images/c39b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c39b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Among the Christians who were taken in the fort was one named Don Pedro de +Aguilar, a native of some place, I know not what, in Andalusia, who had +been ensign in the fort, a soldier of great repute and rare intelligence, +who had in particular a special gift for what they call poetry. I say so +because his fate brought him to my galley and to my bench, and made him a +slave to the same master; and before we left the port this gentleman +composed two sonnets by way of epitaphs, one on the Goletta and the other +on the fort; indeed, I may as well repeat them, for I have them by heart, +and I think they will be liked rather than disliked. +</p> +<p> +The instant the captive mentioned the name of Don Pedro de Aguilar, Don +Fernando looked at his companions and they all three smiled; and when he +came to speak of the sonnets one of them said, “Before your worship +proceeds any further I entreat you to tell me what became of that Don +Pedro de Aguilar you have spoken of.” +</p> +<p> +“All I know is,” replied the captive, “that after having been in +Constantinople two years, he escaped in the disguise of an Arnaut, in +company with a Greek spy; but whether he regained his liberty or not I +cannot tell, though I fancy he did, because a year afterwards I saw the +Greek at Constantinople, though I was unable to ask him what the result of +the journey was.” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, you are right,” returned the gentleman, “for that Don Pedro is +my brother, and he is now in our village in good health, rich, married, +and with three children.” +</p> +<p> +“Thanks be to God for all the mercies he has shown him,” said the captive; +“for to my mind there is no happiness on earth to compare with recovering +lost liberty.” +</p> +<p> +“And what is more,” said the gentleman, “I know the sonnets my brother +made.” +</p> +<p> +“Then let your worship repeat them,” said the captive, “for you will +recite them better than I can.” +</p> +<p> +“With all my heart,” said the gentleman; “that on the Goletta runs thus.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c39e" id="c39e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c39e.jpg (38K)" src="images/c39e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch40" id="ch40"></a>CHAPTER XL. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH THE STORY OF THE CAPTIVE IS CONTINUED. +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c40a" id="c40a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c40a.jpg (131K)" src="images/c40a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c40a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SONNET + +“Blest souls, that, from this mortal husk set free, +In guerdon of brave deeds beatified, +Above this lowly orb of ours abide +Made heirs of heaven and immortality, +With noble rage and ardour glowing ye +Your strength, while strength was yours, in battle plied, +And with your own blood and the foeman’s dyed +The sandy soil and the encircling sea. +It was the ebbing life-blood first that failed +The weary arms; the stout hearts never quailed. +Though vanquished, yet ye earned the victor’s crown: +Though mourned, yet still triumphant was your fall +For there ye won, between the sword and wall, +In Heaven glory and on earth renown.” +</pre> +<p> +“That is it exactly, according to my recollection,” said the captive. +</p> +<p> +“Well then, that on the fort,” said the gentleman, “if my memory serves +me, goes thus: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SONNET + +“Up from this wasted soil, this shattered shell, +Whose walls and towers here in ruin lie, +Three thousand soldier souls took wing on high, +In the bright mansions of the blest to dwell. +The onslaught of the foeman to repel +By might of arm all vainly did they try, +And when at length ‘twas left them but to die, +Wearied and few the last defenders fell. +And this same arid soil hath ever been +A haunt of countless mournful memories, +As well in our day as in days of yore. +But never yet to Heaven it sent, I ween, +From its hard bosom purer souls than these, +Or braver bodies on its surface bore.” +</pre> +<p> +The sonnets were not disliked, and the captive was rejoiced at the tidings +they gave him of his comrade, and continuing his tale, he went on to say: +</p> +<p> +The Goletta and the fort being thus in their hands, the Turks gave orders +to dismantle the Goletta—for the fort was reduced to such a state +that there was nothing left to level—and to do the work more quickly +and easily they mined it in three places; but nowhere were they able to +blow up the part which seemed to be the least strong, that is to say, the +old walls, while all that remained standing of the new fortifications that +the Fratin had made came to the ground with the greatest ease. Finally the +fleet returned victorious and triumphant to Constantinople, and a few +months later died my master, El Uchali, otherwise Uchali Fartax, which +means in Turkish “the scabby renegade;” for that he was; it is the +practice with the Turks to name people from some defect or virtue they may +possess; the reason being that there are among them only four surnames +belonging to families tracing their descent from the Ottoman house, and +the others, as I have said, take their names and surnames either from +bodily blemishes or moral qualities. This “scabby one” rowed at the oar as +a slave of the Grand Signor’s for fourteen years, and when over +thirty-four years of age, in resentment at having been struck by a Turk +while at the oar, turned renegade and renounced his faith in order to be +able to revenge himself; and such was his valour that, without owing his +advancement to the base ways and means by which most favourites of the +Grand Signor rise to power, he came to be king of Algiers, and afterwards +general-on-sea, which is the third place of trust in the realm. He was a +Calabrian by birth, and a worthy man morally, and he treated his slaves +with great humanity. He had three thousand of them, and after his death +they were divided, as he directed by his will, between the Grand Signor +(who is heir of all who die and shares with the children of the deceased) +and his renegades. I fell to the lot of a Venetian renegade who, when a +cabin boy on board a ship, had been taken by Uchali and was so much +beloved by him that he became one of his most favoured youths. He came to +be the most cruel renegade I ever saw: his name was Hassan Aga, and he +grew very rich and became king of Algiers. With him I went there from +Constantinople, rather glad to be so near Spain, not that I intended to +write to anyone about my unhappy lot, but to try if fortune would be +kinder to me in Algiers than in Constantinople, where I had attempted in a +thousand ways to escape without ever finding a favourable time or chance; +but in Algiers I resolved to seek for other means of effecting the purpose +I cherished so dearly; for the hope of obtaining my liberty never deserted +me; and when in my plots and schemes and attempts the result did not +answer my expectations, without giving way to despair I immediately began +to look out for or conjure up some new hope to support me, however faint +or feeble it might be. +</p> +<p> +In this way I lived on immured in a building or prison called by the Turks +a bano in which they confine the Christian captives, as well those that +are the king’s as those belonging to private individuals, and also what +they call those of the Almacen, which is as much as to say the slaves of +the municipality, who serve the city in the public works and other +employments; but captives of this kind recover their liberty with great +difficulty, for, as they are public property and have no particular +master, there is no one with whom to treat for their ransom, even though +they may have the means. To these banos, as I have said, some private +individuals of the town are in the habit of bringing their captives, +especially when they are to be ransomed; because there they can keep them +in safety and comfort until their ransom arrives. The king’s captives +also, that are on ransom, do not go out to work with the rest of the crew, +unless when their ransom is delayed; for then, to make them write for it +more pressingly, they compel them to work and go for wood, which is no +light labour. +</p> +<p> +I, however, was one of those on ransom, for when it was discovered that I +was a captain, although I declared my scanty means and want of fortune, +nothing could dissuade them from including me among the gentlemen and +those waiting to be ransomed. They put a chain on me, more as a mark of +this than to keep me safe, and so I passed my life in that bano with +several other gentlemen and persons of quality marked out as held to +ransom; but though at times, or rather almost always, we suffered from +hunger and scanty clothing, nothing distressed us so much as hearing and +seeing at every turn the unexampled and unheard-of cruelties my master +inflicted upon the Christians. Every day he hanged a man, impaled one, cut +off the ears of another; and all with so little provocation, or so +entirely without any, that the Turks acknowledged he did it merely for the +sake of doing it, and because he was by nature murderously disposed +towards the whole human race. The only one that fared at all well with him +was a Spanish soldier, something de Saavedra by name, to whom he never +gave a blow himself, or ordered a blow to be given, or addressed a hard +word, although he had done things that will dwell in the memory of the +people there for many a year, and all to recover his liberty; and for the +least of the many things he did we all dreaded that he would be impaled, +and he himself was in fear of it more than once; and only that time does +not allow, I could tell you now something of what that soldier did, that +would interest and astonish you much more than the narration of my own +tale. +</p> +<p> +To go on with my story; the courtyard of our prison was overlooked by the +windows of the house belonging to a wealthy Moor of high position; and +these, as is usual in Moorish houses, were rather loopholes than windows, +and besides were covered with thick and close lattice-work. It so +happened, then, that as I was one day on the terrace of our prison with +three other comrades, trying, to pass away the time, how far we could leap +with our chains, we being alone, for all the other Christians had gone out +to work, I chanced to raise my eyes, and from one of these little closed +windows I saw a reed appear with a cloth attached to the end of it, and it +kept waving to and fro, and moving as if making signs to us to come and +take it. We watched it, and one of those who were with me went and stood +under the reed to see whether they would let it drop, or what they would +do, but as he did so the reed was raised and moved from side to side, as +if they meant to say “no” by a shake of the head. The Christian came back, +and it was again lowered, making the same movements as before. Another of +my comrades went, and with him the same happened as with the first, and +then the third went forward, but with the same result as the first and +second. Seeing this I did not like not to try my luck, and as soon as I +came under the reed it was dropped and fell inside the bano at my feet. I +hastened to untie the cloth, in which I perceived a knot, and in this were +ten cianis, which are coins of base gold, current among the Moors, and +each worth ten reals of our money. +</p> +<p> +It is needless to say I rejoiced over this godsend, and my joy was not +less than my wonder as I strove to imagine how this good fortune could +have come to us, but to me specially; for the evident unwillingness to +drop the reed for any but me showed that it was for me the favour was +intended. I took my welcome money, broke the reed, and returned to the +terrace, and looking up at the window, I saw a very white hand put out +that opened and shut very quickly. From this we gathered or fancied that +it must be some woman living in that house that had done us this kindness, +and to show that we were grateful for it, we made salaams after the +fashion of the Moors, bowing the head, bending the body, and crossing the +arms on the breast. Shortly afterwards at the same window a small cross +made of reeds was put out and immediately withdrawn. This sign led us to +believe that some Christian woman was a captive in the house, and that it +was she who had been so good to us; but the whiteness of the hand and the +bracelets we had perceived made us dismiss that idea, though we thought it +might be one of the Christian renegades whom their masters very often take +as lawful wives, and gladly, for they prefer them to the women of their +own nation. In all our conjectures we were wide of the truth; so from that +time forward our sole occupation was watching and gazing at the window +where the cross had appeared to us, as if it were our pole-star; but at +least fifteen days passed without our seeing either it or the hand, or any +other sign and though meanwhile we endeavoured with the utmost pains to +ascertain who it was that lived in the house, and whether there were any +Christian renegade in it, nobody could ever tell us anything more than +that he who lived there was a rich Moor of high position, Hadji Morato by +name, formerly alcaide of La Pata, an office of high dignity among them. +But when we least thought it was going to rain any more cianis from that +quarter, we saw the reed suddenly appear with another cloth tied in a +larger knot attached to it, and this at a time when, as on the former +occasion, the bano was deserted and unoccupied. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c40b" id="c40b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c40b.jpg (288K)" src="images/c40b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c40b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +We made trial as before, each of the same three going forward before I +did; but the reed was delivered to none but me, and on my approach it was +let drop. I untied the knot and I found forty Spanish gold crowns with a +paper written in Arabic, and at the end of the writing there was a large +cross drawn. I kissed the cross, took the crowns and returned to the +terrace, and we all made our salaams; again the hand appeared, I made +signs that I would read the paper, and then the window was closed. We were +all puzzled, though filled with joy at what had taken place; and as none +of us understood Arabic, great was our curiosity to know what the paper +contained, and still greater the difficulty of finding some one to read +it. At last I resolved to confide in a renegade, a native of Murcia, who +professed a very great friendship for me, and had given pledges that bound +him to keep any secret I might entrust to him; for it is the custom with +some renegades, when they intend to return to Christian territory, to +carry about them certificates from captives of mark testifying, in +whatever form they can, that such and such a renegade is a worthy man who +has always shown kindness to Christians, and is anxious to escape on the +first opportunity that may present itself. Some obtain these testimonials +with good intentions, others put them to a cunning use; for when they go +to pillage on Christian territory, if they chance to be cast away, or +taken prisoners, they produce their certificates and say that from these +papers may be seen the object they came for, which was to remain on +Christian ground, and that it was to this end they joined the Turks in +their foray. In this way they escape the consequences of the first +outburst and make their peace with the Church before it does them any +harm, and then when they have the chance they return to Barbary to become +what they were before. Others, however, there are who procure these papers +and make use of them honestly, and remain on Christian soil. This friend +of mine, then, was one of these renegades that I have described; he had +certificates from all our comrades, in which we testified in his favour as +strongly as we could; and if the Moors had found the papers they would +have burned him alive. +</p> +<p> +I knew that he understood Arabic very well, and could not only speak but +also write it; but before I disclosed the whole matter to him, I asked him +to read for me this paper which I had found by accident in a hole in my +cell. He opened it and remained some time examining it and muttering to +himself as he translated it. I asked him if he understood it, and he told +me he did perfectly well, and that if I wished him to tell me its meaning +word for word, I must give him pen and ink that he might do it more +satisfactorily. We at once gave him what he required, and he set about +translating it bit by bit, and when he had done he said: +</p> +<p> +“All that is here in Spanish is what the Moorish paper contains, and you +must bear in mind that when it says ‘Lela Marien’ it means ‘Our Lady the +Virgin Mary.’” +</p> +<p> +We read the paper and it ran thus: +</p> +<p> +“When I was a child my father had a slave who taught me to pray the +Christian prayer in my own language, and told me many things about Lela +Marien. The Christian died, and I know that she did not go to the fire, +but to Allah, because since then I have seen her twice, and she told me to +go to the land of the Christians to see Lela Marien, who had great love +for me. I know not how to go. I have seen many Christians, but except +thyself none has seemed to me to be a gentleman. I am young and beautiful, +and have plenty of money to take with me. See if thou canst contrive how +we may go, and if thou wilt thou shalt be my husband there, and if thou +wilt not it will not distress me, for Lela Marien will find me some one to +marry me. I myself have written this: have a care to whom thou givest it +to read: trust no Moor, for they are all perfidious. I am greatly troubled +on this account, for I would not have thee confide in anyone, because if +my father knew it he would at once fling me down a well and cover me with +stones. I will put a thread to the reed; tie the answer to it, and if thou +hast no one to write for thee in Arabic, tell it to me by signs, for Lela +Marien will make me understand thee. She and Allah and this cross, which I +often kiss as the captive bade me, protect thee.” +</p> +<p> +Judge, sirs, whether we had reason for surprise and joy at the words of +this paper; and both one and the other were so great, that the renegade +perceived that the paper had not been found by chance, but had been in +reality addressed to some one of us, and he begged us, if what he +suspected were the truth, to trust him and tell him all, for he would risk +his life for our freedom; and so saying he took out from his breast a +metal crucifix, and with many tears swore by the God the image +represented, in whom, sinful and wicked as he was, he truly and faithfully +believed, to be loyal to us and keep secret whatever we chose to reveal to +him; for he thought and almost foresaw that by means of her who had +written that paper, he and all of us would obtain our liberty, and he +himself obtain the object he so much desired, his restoration to the bosom +of the Holy Mother Church, from which by his own sin and ignorance he was +now severed like a corrupt limb. The renegade said this with so many tears +and such signs of repentance, that with one consent we all agreed to tell +him the whole truth of the matter, and so we gave him a full account of +all, without hiding anything from him. We pointed out to him the window at +which the reed appeared, and he by that means took note of the house, and +resolved to ascertain with particular care who lived in it. We agreed also +that it would be advisable to answer the Moorish lady’s letter, and the +renegade without a moment’s delay took down the words I dictated to him, +which were exactly what I shall tell you, for nothing of importance that +took place in this affair has escaped my memory, or ever will while life +lasts. This, then, was the answer returned to the Moorish lady: +</p> +<p> +“The true Allah protect thee, Lady, and that blessed Marien who is the +true mother of God, and who has put it into thy heart to go to the land of +the Christians, because she loves thee. Entreat her that she be pleased to +show thee how thou canst execute the command she gives thee, for she will, +such is her goodness. On my own part, and on that of all these Christians +who are with me, I promise to do all that we can for thee, even to death. +Fail not to write to me and inform me what thou dost mean to do, and I +will always answer thee; for the great Allah has given us a Christian +captive who can speak and write thy language well, as thou mayest see by +this paper; without fear, therefore, thou canst inform us of all thou +wouldst. As to what thou sayest, that if thou dost reach the land of the +Christians thou wilt be my wife, I give thee my promise upon it as a good +Christian; and know that the Christians keep their promises better than +the Moors. Allah and Marien his mother watch over thee, my Lady.” +</p> +<p> +The paper being written and folded I waited two days until the bano was +empty as before, and immediately repaired to the usual walk on the terrace +to see if there were any sign of the reed, which was not long in making +its appearance. As soon as I saw it, although I could not distinguish who +put it out, I showed the paper as a sign to attach the thread, but it was +already fixed to the reed, and to it I tied the paper; and shortly +afterwards our star once more made its appearance with the white flag of +peace, the little bundle. It was dropped, and I picked it up, and found in +the cloth, in gold and silver coins of all sorts, more than fifty crowns, +which fifty times more strengthened our joy and doubled our hope of +gaining our liberty. That very night our renegade returned and said he had +learned that the Moor we had been told of lived in that house, that his +name was Hadji Morato, that he was enormously rich, that he had one only +daughter the heiress of all his wealth, and that it was the general +opinion throughout the city that she was the most beautiful woman in +Barbary, and that several of the viceroys who came there had sought her +for a wife, but that she had been always unwilling to marry; and he had +learned, moreover, that she had a Christian slave who was now dead; all +which agreed with the contents of the paper. We immediately took counsel +with the renegade as to what means would have to be adopted in order to +carry off the Moorish lady and bring us all to Christian territory; and in +the end it was agreed that for the present we should wait for a second +communication from Zoraida (for that was the name of her who now desires +to be called Maria), because we saw clearly that she and no one else could +find a way out of all these difficulties. When we had decided upon this +the renegade told us not to be uneasy, for he would lose his life or +restore us to liberty. For four days the bano was filled with people, for +which reason the reed delayed its appearance for four days, but at the end +of that time, when the bano was, as it generally was, empty, it appeared +with the cloth so bulky that it promised a happy birth. Reed and cloth +came down to me, and I found another paper and a hundred crowns in gold, +without any other coin. The renegade was present, and in our cell we gave +him the paper to read, which was to this effect: +</p> +<p> +“I cannot think of a plan, señor, for our going to Spain, nor has Lela +Marien shown me one, though I have asked her. All that can be done is for +me to give you plenty of money in gold from this window. With it ransom +yourself and your friends, and let one of you go to the land of the +Christians, and there buy a vessel and come back for the others; and he +will find me in my father’s garden, which is at the Babazon gate near the +seashore, where I shall be all this summer with my father and my servants. +You can carry me away from there by night without any danger, and bring me +to the vessel. And remember thou art to be my husband, else I will pray to +Marien to punish thee. If thou canst not trust anyone to go for the +vessel, ransom thyself and do thou go, for I know thou wilt return more +surely than any other, as thou art a gentleman and a Christian. Endeavour +to make thyself acquainted with the garden; and when I see thee walking +yonder I shall know that the bano is empty and I will give thee abundance +of money. Allah protect thee, señor.” +</p> +<p> +These were the words and contents of the second paper, and on hearing +them, each declared himself willing to be the ransomed one, and promised +to go and return with scrupulous good faith; and I too made the same +offer; but to all this the renegade objected, saying that he would not on +any account consent to one being set free before all went together, as +experience had taught him how ill those who have been set free keep +promises which they made in captivity; for captives of distinction +frequently had recourse to this plan, paying the ransom of one who was to +go to Valencia or Majorca with money to enable him to arm a bark and +return for the others who had ransomed him, but who never came back; for +recovered liberty and the dread of losing it again efface from the memory +all the obligations in the world. And to prove the truth of what he said, +he told us briefly what had happened to a certain Christian gentleman +almost at that very time, the strangest case that had ever occurred even +there, where astonishing and marvellous things are happening every +instant. In short, he ended by saying that what could and ought to be done +was to give the money intended for the ransom of one of us Christians to +him, so that he might with it buy a vessel there in Algiers under the +pretence of becoming a merchant and trader at Tetuan and along the coast; +and when master of the vessel, it would be easy for him to hit on some way +of getting us all out of the bano and putting us on board; especially if +the Moorish lady gave, as she said, money enough to ransom all, because +once free it would be the easiest thing in the world for us to embark even +in open day; but the greatest difficulty was that the Moors do not allow +any renegade to buy or own any craft, unless it be a large vessel for +going on roving expeditions, because they are afraid that anyone who buys +a small vessel, especially if he be a Spaniard, only wants it for the +purpose of escaping to Christian territory. This however he could get over +by arranging with a Tagarin Moor to go shares with him in the purchase of +the vessel, and in the profit on the cargo; and under cover of this he +could become master of the vessel, in which case he looked upon all the +rest as accomplished. But though to me and my comrades it had seemed a +better plan to send to Majorca for the vessel, as the Moorish lady +suggested, we did not dare to oppose him, fearing that if we did not do as +he said he would denounce us, and place us in danger of losing all our +lives if he were to disclose our dealings with Zoraida, for whose life we +would have all given our own. We therefore resolved to put ourselves in +the hands of God and in the renegade’s; and at the same time an answer was +given to Zoraida, telling her that we would do all she recommended, for +she had given as good advice as if Lela Marien had delivered it, and that +it depended on her alone whether we were to defer the business or put it +in execution at once. I renewed my promise to be her husband; and thus the +next day that the bano chanced to be empty she at different times gave us +by means of the reed and cloth two thousand gold crowns and a paper in +which she said that the next Juma, that is to say Friday, she was going to +her father’s garden, but that before she went she would give us more +money; and if it were not enough we were to let her know, as she would +give us as much as we asked, for her father had so much he would not miss +it, and besides she kept all the keys. +</p> +<p> +We at once gave the renegade five hundred crowns to buy the vessel, and +with eight hundred I ransomed myself, giving the money to a Valencian +merchant who happened to be in Algiers at the time, and who had me +released on his word, pledging it that on the arrival of the first ship +from Valencia he would pay my ransom; for if he had given the money at +once it would have made the king suspect that my ransom money had been for +a long time in Algiers, and that the merchant had for his own advantage +kept it secret. In fact my master was so difficult to deal with that I +dared not on any account pay down the money at once. The Thursday before +the Friday on which the fair Zoraida was to go to the garden she gave us a +thousand crowns more, and warned us of her departure, begging me, if I +were ransomed, to find out her father’s garden at once, and by all means +to seek an opportunity of going there to see her. I answered in a few +words that I would do so, and that she must remember to commend us to Lela +Marien with all the prayers the captive had taught her. This having been +done, steps were taken to ransom our three comrades, so as to enable them +to quit the bano, and lest, seeing me ransomed and themselves not, though +the money was forthcoming, they should make a disturbance about it and the +devil should prompt them to do something that might injure Zoraida; for +though their position might be sufficient to relieve me from this +apprehension, nevertheless I was unwilling to run any risk in the matter; +and so I had them ransomed in the same way as I was, handing over all the +money to the merchant so that he might with safety and confidence give +security; without, however, confiding our arrangement and secret to him, +which might have been dangerous. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c40e" id="c40e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c40e.jpg (34K)" src="images/c40e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch41" id="ch41"></a>CHAPTER XLI. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH THE CAPTIVE STILL CONTINUES HIS ADVENTURES +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c41a" id="c41a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c41a.jpg (106K)" src="images/c41a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c41a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Before fifteen days were over our renegade had already purchased an +excellent vessel with room for more than thirty persons; and to make the +transaction safe and lend a colour to it, he thought it well to make, as +he did, a voyage to a place called Shershel, twenty leagues from Algiers +on the Oran side, where there is an extensive trade in dried figs. Two or +three times he made this voyage in company with the Tagarin already +mentioned. The Moors of Aragon are called Tagarins in Barbary, and those +of Granada Mudejars; but in the Kingdom of Fez they call the Mudejars +Elches, and they are the people the king chiefly employs in war. To +proceed: every time he passed with his vessel he anchored in a cove that +was not two crossbow shots from the garden where Zoraida was waiting; and +there the renegade, together with the two Moorish lads that rowed, used +purposely to station himself, either going through his prayers, or else +practising as a part what he meant to perform in earnest. And thus he +would go to Zoraida’s garden and ask for fruit, which her father gave him, +not knowing him; but though, as he afterwards told me, he sought to speak +to Zoraida, and tell her who he was, and that by my orders he was to take +her to the land of the Christians, so that she might feel satisfied and +easy, he had never been able to do so; for the Moorish women do not allow +themselves to be seen by any Moor or Turk, unless their husband or father +bid them: with Christian captives they permit freedom of intercourse and +communication, even more than might be considered proper. But for my part +I should have been sorry if he had spoken to her, for perhaps it might +have alarmed her to find her affairs talked of by renegades. But God, who +ordered it otherwise, afforded no opportunity for our renegade’s +well-meant purpose; and he, seeing how safely he could go to Shershel and +return, and anchor when and how and where he liked, and that the Tagarin +his partner had no will but his, and that, now I was ransomed, all we +wanted was to find some Christians to row, told me to look out for any I +should he willing to take with me, over and above those who had been +ransomed, and to engage them for the next Friday, which he fixed upon for +our departure. On this I spoke to twelve Spaniards, all stout rowers, and +such as could most easily leave the city; but it was no easy matter to +find so many just then, because there were twenty ships out on a cruise +and they had taken all the rowers with them; and these would not have been +found were it not that their master remained at home that summer without +going to sea in order to finish a galliot that he had upon the stocks. To +these men I said nothing more than that the next Friday in the evening +they were to come out stealthily one by one and hang about Hadji Morato’s +garden, waiting for me there until I came. These directions I gave each +one separately, with orders that if they saw any other Christians there +they were not to say anything to them except that I had directed them to +wait at that spot. +</p> +<p> +This preliminary having been settled, another still more necessary step +had to be taken, which was to let Zoraida know how matters stood that she +might be prepared and forewarned, so as not to be taken by surprise if we +were suddenly to seize upon her before she thought the Christians’ vessel +could have returned. I determined, therefore, to go to the garden and try +if I could speak to her; and the day before my departure I went there +under the pretence of gathering herbs. The first person I met was her +father, who addressed me in the language that all over Barbary and even in +Constantinople is the medium between captives and Moors, and is neither +Morisco nor Castilian, nor of any other nation, but a mixture of all +languages, by means of which we can all understand one another. In this +sort of language, I say, he asked me what I wanted in his garden, and to +whom I belonged. I replied that I was a slave of the Arnaut Mami (for I +knew as a certainty that he was a very great friend of his), and that I +wanted some herbs to make a salad. He asked me then whether I were on +ransom or not, and what my master demanded for me. While these questions +and answers were proceeding, the fair Zoraida, who had already perceived +me some time before, came out of the house in the garden, and as Moorish +women are by no means particular about letting themselves be seen by +Christians, or, as I have said before, at all coy, she had no hesitation +in coming to where her father stood with me; moreover her father, seeing +her approaching slowly, called to her to come. It would be beyond my power +now to describe to you the great beauty, the high-bred air, the brilliant +attire of my beloved Zoraida as she presented herself before my eyes. I +will content myself with saying that more pearls hung from her fair neck, +her ears, and her hair than she had hairs on her head. On her ankles, +which as is customary were bare, she had carcajes (for so bracelets or +anklets are called in Morisco) of the purest gold, set with so many +diamonds that she told me afterwards her father valued them at ten +thousand doubloons, and those she had on her wrists were worth as much +more. The pearls were in profusion and very fine, for the highest display +and adornment of the Moorish women is decking themselves with rich pearls +and seed-pearls; and of these there are therefore more among the Moors +than among any other people. Zoraida’s father had to the reputation of +possessing a great number, and the purest in all Algiers, and of +possessing also more than two hundred thousand Spanish crowns; and she, +who is now mistress of me only, was mistress of all this. Whether thus +adorned she would have been beautiful or not, and what she must have been +in her prosperity, may be imagined from the beauty remaining to her after +so many hardships; for, as everyone knows, the beauty of some women has +its times and its seasons, and is increased or diminished by chance +causes; and naturally the emotions of the mind will heighten or impair it, +though indeed more frequently they totally destroy it. In a word she +presented herself before me that day attired with the utmost splendour, +and supremely beautiful; at any rate, she seemed to me the most beautiful +object I had ever seen; and when, besides, I thought of all I owed to her +I felt as though I had before me some heavenly being come to earth to +bring me relief and happiness. +</p> +<p> +As she approached her father told her in his own language that I was a +captive belonging to his friend the Arnaut Mami, and that I had come for +salad. +</p> +<p> +She took up the conversation, and in that mixture of tongues I have spoken +of she asked me if I was a gentleman, and why I was not ransomed. +</p> +<p> +I answered that I was already ransomed, and that by the price it might be +seen what value my master set on me, as they had given one thousand five +hundred zoltanis for me; to which she replied, “Hadst thou been my +father’s, I can tell thee, I would not have let him part with thee for +twice as much, for you Christians always tell lies about yourselves and +make yourselves out poor to cheat the Moors.” +</p> +<p> +“That may be, lady,” said I; “but indeed I dealt truthfully with my +master, as I do and mean to do with everybody in the world.” +</p> +<p> +“And when dost thou go?” said Zoraida. +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow, I think,” said I, “for there is a vessel here from France +which sails to-morrow, and I think I shall go in her.” +</p> +<p> +“Would it not be better,” said Zoraida, “to wait for the arrival of ships +from Spain and go with them and not with the French who are not your +friends?” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said I; “though if there were intelligence that a vessel were now +coming from Spain it is true I might, perhaps, wait for it; however, it is +more likely I shall depart to-morrow, for the longing I feel to return to +my country and to those I love is so great that it will not allow me to +wait for another opportunity, however more convenient, if it be delayed.” +</p> +<p> +“No doubt thou art married in thine own country,” said Zoraida, “and for +that reason thou art anxious to go and see thy wife.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not married,” I replied, “but I have given my promise to marry on my +arrival there.” +</p> +<p> +“And is the lady beautiful to whom thou hast given it?” said Zoraida. +</p> +<p> +“So beautiful,” said I, “that, to describe her worthily and tell thee the +truth, she is very like thee.” +</p> +<p> +At this her father laughed very heartily and said, “By Allah, Christian, +she must be very beautiful if she is like my daughter, who is the most +beautiful woman in all this kingdom: only look at her well and thou wilt +see I am telling the truth.” +</p> +<p> +Zoraida’s father as the better linguist helped to interpret most of these +words and phrases, for though she spoke the bastard language, that, as I +have said, is employed there, she expressed her meaning more by signs than +by words. +</p> +<p> +While we were still engaged in this conversation, a Moor came running up, +exclaiming that four Turks had leaped over the fence or wall of the +garden, and were gathering the fruit though it was not yet ripe. The old +man was alarmed and Zoraida too, for the Moors commonly, and, so to speak, +instinctively have a dread of the Turks, but particularly of the soldiers, +who are so insolent and domineering to the Moors who are under their power +that they treat them worse than if they were their slaves. Her father said +to Zoraida, “Daughter, retire into the house and shut thyself in while I +go and speak to these dogs; and thou, Christian, pick thy herbs, and go in +peace, and Allah bring thee safe to thy own country.” +</p> +<p> +I bowed, and he went away to look for the Turks, leaving me alone with +Zoraida, who made as if she were about to retire as her father bade her; +but the moment he was concealed by the trees of the garden, turning to me +with her eyes full of tears she said, “Tameji, cristiano, tameji?” that is +to say, “Art thou going, Christian, art thou going?” +</p> +<p> +I made answer, “Yes, lady, but not without thee, come what may: be on the +watch for me on the next Juma, and be not alarmed when thou seest us; for +most surely we shall go to the land of the Christians.” +</p> +<p> +This I said in such a way that she understood perfectly all that passed +between us, and throwing her arm round my neck she began with feeble steps +to move towards the house; but as fate would have it (and it might have +been very unfortunate if Heaven had not otherwise ordered it), just as we +were moving on in the manner and position I have described, with her arm +round my neck, her father, as he returned after having sent away the +Turks, saw how we were walking and we perceived that he saw us; but +Zoraida, ready and quickwitted, took care not to remove her arm from my +neck, but on the contrary drew closer to me and laid her head on my +breast, bending her knees a little and showing all the signs and tokens of +fainting, while I at the same time made it seem as though I were +supporting her against my will. Her father came running up to where we +were, and seeing his daughter in this state asked what was the matter with +her; she, however, giving no answer, he said, “No doubt she has fainted in +alarm at the entrance of those dogs,” and taking her from mine he drew her +to his own breast, while she sighing, her eyes still wet with tears, said +again, “Ameji, cristiano, ameji”—“Go, Christian, go.” To this her +father replied, “There is no need, daughter, for the Christian to go, for +he has done thee no harm, and the Turks have now gone; feel no alarm, +there is nothing to hurt thee, for as I say, the Turks at my request have +gone back the way they came.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c41b" id="c41b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c41b.jpg (320K)" src="images/c41b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c41b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“It was they who terrified her, as thou hast said, señor,” said I to her +father; “but since she tells me to go, I have no wish to displease her: +peace be with thee, and with thy leave I will come back to this garden for +herbs if need be, for my master says there are nowhere better herbs for +salad than here.” +</p> +<p> +“Come back for any thou hast need of,” replied Hadji Morato; “for my +daughter does not speak thus because she is displeased with thee or any +Christian: she only meant that the Turks should go, not thou; or that it +was time for thee to look for thy herbs.” +</p> +<p> +With this I at once took my leave of both; and she, looking as though her +heart were breaking, retired with her father. While pretending to look for +herbs I made the round of the garden at my ease, and studied carefully all +the approaches and outlets, and the fastenings of the house and everything +that could be taken advantage of to make our task easy. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c41c" id="c41c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c41c.jpg (326K)" src="images/c41c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c41c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Having done so I went and gave an account of all that had taken place to +the renegade and my comrades, and looked forward with impatience to the +hour when, all fear at an end, I should find myself in possession of the +prize which fortune held out to me in the fair and lovely Zoraida. The +time passed at length, and the appointed day we so longed for arrived; +and, all following out the arrangement and plan which, after careful +consideration and many a long discussion, we had decided upon, we +succeeded as fully as we could have wished; for on the Friday following +the day upon which I spoke to Zoraida in the garden, the renegade anchored +his vessel at nightfall almost opposite the spot where she was. The +Christians who were to row were ready and in hiding in different places +round about, all waiting for me, anxious and elated, and eager to attack +the vessel they had before their eyes; for they did not know the +renegade’s plan, but expected that they were to gain their liberty by +force of arms and by killing the Moors who were on board the vessel. As +soon, then, as I and my comrades made our appearance, all those that were +in hiding seeing us came and joined us. It was now the time when the city +gates are shut, and there was no one to be seen in all the space outside. +When we were collected together we debated whether it would be better +first to go for Zoraida, or to make prisoners of the Moorish rowers who +rowed in the vessel; but while we were still uncertain our renegade came +up asking us what kept us, as it was now the time, and all the Moors were +off their guard and most of them asleep. We told him why we hesitated, but +he said it was of more importance first to secure the vessel, which could +be done with the greatest ease and without any danger, and then we could +go for Zoraida. We all approved of what he said, and so without further +delay, guided by him we made for the vessel, and he leaping on board +first, drew his cutlass and said in Morisco, “Let no one stir from this if +he does not want it to cost him his life.” By this almost all the +Christians were on board, and the Moors, who were fainthearted, hearing +their captain speak in this way, were cowed, and without any one of them +taking to his arms (and indeed they had few or hardly any) they submitted +without saying a word to be bound by the Christians, who quickly secured +them, threatening them that if they raised any kind of outcry they would +be all put to the sword. This having been accomplished, and half of our +party being left to keep guard over them, the rest of us, again taking the +renegade as our guide, hastened towards Hadji Morato’s garden, and as good +luck would have it, on trying the gate it opened as easily as if it had +not been locked; and so, quite quietly and in silence, we reached the +house without being perceived by anybody. The lovely Zoraida was watching +for us at a window, and as soon as she perceived that there were people +there, she asked in a low voice if we were “Nizarani,” as much as to say +or ask if we were Christians. I answered that we were, and begged her to +come down. As soon as she recognised me she did not delay an instant, but +without answering a word came down immediately, opened the door and +presented herself before us all, so beautiful and so richly attired that I +cannot attempt to describe her. The moment I saw her I took her hand and +kissed it, and the renegade and my two comrades did the same; and the +rest, who knew nothing of the circumstances, did as they saw us do, for it +only seemed as if we were returning thanks to her, and recognising her as +the giver of our liberty. The renegade asked her in the Morisco language +if her father was in the house. She replied that he was and that he was +asleep. +</p> +<p> +“Then it will be necessary to waken him and take him with us,” said the +renegade, “and everything of value in this fair mansion.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay,” said she, “my father must not on any account be touched, and there +is nothing in the house except what I shall take, and that will be quite +enough to enrich and satisfy all of you; wait a little and you shall see,” +and so saying she went in, telling us she would return immediately and +bidding us keep quiet without making any noise. +</p> +<p> +I asked the renegade what had passed between them, and when he told me, I +declared that nothing should be done except in accordance with the wishes +of Zoraida, who now came back with a little trunk so full of gold crowns +that she could scarcely carry it. Unfortunately her father awoke while +this was going on, and hearing a noise in the garden, came to the window, +and at once perceiving that all those who were there were Christians, +raising a prodigiously loud outcry, he began to call out in Arabic, +“Christians, Christians! thieves, thieves!” by which cries we were all +thrown into the greatest fear and embarrassment; but the renegade seeing +the danger we were in and how important it was for him to effect his +purpose before we were heard, mounted with the utmost quickness to where +Hadji Morato was, and with him went some of our party; I, however, did not +dare to leave Zoraida, who had fallen almost fainting in my arms. To be +brief, those who had gone upstairs acted so promptly that in an instant +they came down, carrying Hadji Morato with his hands bound and a napkin +tied over his mouth, which prevented him from uttering a word, warning him +at the same time that to attempt to speak would cost him his life. When +his daughter caught sight of him she covered her eyes so as not to see +him, and her father was horror-stricken, not knowing how willingly she had +placed herself in our hands. But it was now most essential for us to be on +the move, and carefully and quickly we regained the vessel, where those +who had remained on board were waiting for us in apprehension of some +mishap having befallen us. It was barely two hours after night set in when +we were all on board the vessel, where the cords were removed from the +hands of Zoraida’s father, and the napkin from his mouth; but the renegade +once more told him not to utter a word, or they would take his life. He, +when he saw his daughter there, began to sigh piteously, and still more +when he perceived that I held her closely embraced and that she lay quiet +without resisting or complaining, or showing any reluctance; nevertheless +he remained silent lest they should carry into effect the repeated threats +the renegade had addressed to him. +</p> +<p> +Finding herself now on board, and that we were about to give way with the +oars, Zoraida, seeing her father there, and the other Moors bound, bade +the renegade ask me to do her the favour of releasing the Moors and +setting her father at liberty, for she would rather drown herself in the +sea than suffer a father that had loved her so dearly to be carried away +captive before her eyes and on her account. The renegade repeated this to +me, and I replied that I was very willing to do so; but he replied that it +was not advisable, because if they were left there they would at once +raise the country and stir up the city, and lead to the despatch of swift +cruisers in pursuit, and our being taken, by sea or land, without any +possibility of escape; and that all that could be done was to set them +free on the first Christian ground we reached. On this point we all +agreed; and Zoraida, to whom it was explained, together with the reasons +that prevented us from doing at once what she desired, was satisfied +likewise; and then in glad silence and with cheerful alacrity each of our +stout rowers took his oar, and commending ourselves to God with all our +hearts, we began to shape our course for the island of Majorca, the +nearest Christian land. Owing, however, to the Tramontana rising a little, +and the sea growing somewhat rough, it was impossible for us to keep a +straight course for Majorca, and we were compelled to coast in the +direction of Oran, not without great uneasiness on our part lest we should +be observed from the town of Shershel, which lies on that coast, not more +than sixty miles from Algiers. Moreover we were afraid of meeting on that +course one of the galliots that usually come with goods from Tetuan; +although each of us for himself and all of us together felt confident +that, if we were to meet a merchant galliot, so that it were not a +cruiser, not only should we not be lost, but that we should take a vessel +in which we could more safely accomplish our voyage. As we pursued our +course Zoraida kept her head between my hands so as not to see her father, +and I felt that she was praying to Lela Marien to help us. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c41d" id="c41d"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c41d.jpg (266K)" src="images/c41d.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c41d.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +We might have made about thirty miles when daybreak found us some three +musket-shots off the land, which seemed to us deserted, and without anyone +to see us. For all that, however, by hard rowing we put out a little to +sea, for it was now somewhat calmer, and having gained about two leagues +the word was given to row by batches, while we ate something, for the +vessel was well provided; but the rowers said it was not a time to take +any rest; let food be served out to those who were not rowing, but they +would not leave their oars on any account. This was done, but now a stiff +breeze began to blow, which obliged us to leave off rowing and make sail +at once and steer for Oran, as it was impossible to make any other course. +All this was done very promptly, and under sail we ran more than eight +miles an hour without any fear, except that of coming across some vessel +out on a roving expedition. We gave the Moorish rowers some food, and the +renegade comforted them by telling them that they were not held as +captives, as we should set them free on the first opportunity. +</p> +<p> +The same was said to Zoraida’s father, who replied, “Anything else, +Christian, I might hope for or think likely from your generosity and good +behaviour, but do not think me so simple as to imagine you will give me my +liberty; for you would have never exposed yourselves to the danger of +depriving me of it only to restore it to me so generously, especially as +you know who I am and the sum you may expect to receive on restoring it; +and if you will only name that, I here offer you all you require for +myself and for my unhappy daughter there; or else for her alone, for she +is the greatest and most precious part of my soul.” +</p> +<p> +As he said this he began to weep so bitterly that he filled us all with +compassion and forced Zoraida to look at him, and when she saw him weeping +she was so moved that she rose from my feet and ran to throw her arms +round him, and pressing her face to his, they both gave way to such an +outburst of tears that several of us were constrained to keep them +company. +</p> +<p> +But when her father saw her in full dress and with all her jewels about +her, he said to her in his own language, “What means this, my daughter? +Last night, before this terrible misfortune in which we are plunged befell +us, I saw thee in thy everyday and indoor garments; and now, without +having had time to attire thyself, and without my bringing thee any joyful +tidings to furnish an occasion for adorning and bedecking thyself, I see +thee arrayed in the finest attire it would be in my power to give thee +when fortune was most kind to us. Answer me this; for it causes me greater +anxiety and surprise than even this misfortune itself.” +</p> +<p> +The renegade interpreted to us what the Moor said to his daughter; she, +however, returned him no answer. But when he observed in one corner of the +vessel the little trunk in which she used to keep her jewels, which he +well knew he had left in Algiers and had not brought to the garden, he was +still more amazed, and asked her how that trunk had come into our hands, +and what there was in it. To which the renegade, without waiting for +Zoraida to reply, made answer, “Do not trouble thyself by asking thy +daughter Zoraida so many questions, señor, for the one answer I will give +thee will serve for all; I would have thee know that she is a Christian, +and that it is she who has been the file for our chains and our deliverer +from captivity. She is here of her own free will, as glad, I imagine, to +find herself in this position as he who escapes from darkness into the +light, from death to life, and from suffering to glory.” +</p> +<p> +“Daughter, is this true, what he says?” cried the Moor. +</p> +<p> +“It is,” replied Zoraida. +</p> +<p> +“That thou art in truth a Christian,” said the old man, “and that thou +hast given thy father into the power of his enemies?” +</p> +<p> +To which Zoraida made answer, “A Christian I am, but it is not I who have +placed thee in this position, for it never was my wish to leave thee or do +thee harm, but only to do good to myself.” +</p> +<p> +“And what good hast thou done thyself, daughter?” said he. +</p> +<p> +“Ask thou that,” said she, “of Lela Marien, for she can tell thee better +than I.” +</p> +<p> +The Moor had hardly heard these words when with marvellous quickness he +flung himself headforemost into the sea, where no doubt he would have been +drowned had not the long and full dress he wore held him up for a little +on the surface of the water. Zoraida cried aloud to us to save him, and we +all hastened to help, and seizing him by his robe we drew him in half +drowned and insensible, at which Zoraida was in such distress that she +wept over him as piteously and bitterly as though he were already dead. We +turned him upon his face and he voided a great quantity of water, and at +the end of two hours came to himself. Meanwhile, the wind having changed +we were compelled to head for the land, and ply our oars to avoid being +driven on shore; but it was our good fortune to reach a creek that lies on +one side of a small promontory or cape, called by the Moors that of the +“Cava rumia,” which in our language means “the wicked Christian woman;” +for it is a tradition among them that La Cava, through whom Spain was +lost, lies buried at that spot; “cava” in their language meaning “wicked +woman,” and “rumia” “Christian;” moreover, they count it unlucky to anchor +there when necessity compels them, and they never do so otherwise. For us, +however, it was not the resting-place of the wicked woman but a haven of +safety for our relief, so much had the sea now got up. We posted a +look-out on shore, and never let the oars out of our hands, and ate of the +stores the renegade had laid in, imploring God and Our Lady with all our +hearts to help and protect us, that we might give a happy ending to a +beginning so prosperous. At the entreaty of Zoraida orders were given to +set on shore her father and the other Moors who were still bound, for she +could not endure, nor could her tender heart bear to see her father in +bonds and her fellow-countrymen prisoners before her eyes. We promised her +to do this at the moment of departure, for as it was uninhabited we ran no +risk in releasing them at that place. +</p> +<p> +Our prayers were not so far in vain as to be unheard by Heaven, for after +a while the wind changed in our favour, and made the sea calm, inviting us +once more to resume our voyage with a good heart. Seeing this we unbound +the Moors, and one by one put them on shore, at which they were filled +with amazement; but when we came to land Zoraida’s father, who had now +completely recovered his senses, he said: +</p> +<p> +“Why is it, think ye, Christians, that this wicked woman is rejoiced at +your giving me my liberty? Think ye it is because of the affection she +bears me? Nay verily, it is only because of the hindrance my presence +offers to the execution of her base designs. And think not that it is her +belief that yours is better than ours that has led her to change her +religion; it is only because she knows that immodesty is more freely +practised in your country than in ours.” Then turning to Zoraida, while I +and another of the Christians held him fast by both arms, lest he should +do some mad act, he said to her, “Infamous girl, misguided maiden, whither +in thy blindness and madness art thou going in the hands of these dogs, +our natural enemies? Cursed be the hour when I begot thee! Cursed the +luxury and indulgence in which I reared thee!” +</p> +<p> +But seeing that he was not likely soon to cease I made haste to put him on +shore, and thence he continued his maledictions and lamentations aloud; +calling on Mohammed to pray to Allah to destroy us, to confound us, to +make an end of us; and when, in consequence of having made sail, we could +no longer hear what he said we could see what he did; how he plucked out +his beard and tore his hair and lay writhing on the ground. But once he +raised his voice to such a pitch that we were able to hear what he said. +“Come back, dear daughter, come back to shore; I forgive thee all; let +those men have the money, for it is theirs now, and come back to comfort +thy sorrowing father, who will yield up his life on this barren strand if +thou dost leave him.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c41e" id="c41e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c41e.jpg (281K)" src="images/c41e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c41e.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +All this Zoraida heard, and heard with sorrow and tears, and all she could +say in answer was, “Allah grant that Lela Marien, who has made me become a +Christian, give thee comfort in thy sorrow, my father. Allah knows that I +could not do otherwise than I have done, and that these Christians owe +nothing to my will; for even had I wished not to accompany them, but +remain at home, it would have been impossible for me, so eagerly did my +soul urge me on to the accomplishment of this purpose, which I feel to be +as righteous as to thee, dear father, it seems wicked.” +</p> +<p> +But neither could her father hear her nor we see him when she said this; +and so, while I consoled Zoraida, we turned our attention to our voyage, +in which a breeze from the right point so favoured us that we made sure of +finding ourselves off the coast of Spain on the morrow by daybreak. But, +as good seldom or never comes pure and unmixed, without being attended or +followed by some disturbing evil that gives a shock to it, our fortune, or +perhaps the curses which the Moor had hurled at his daughter (for whatever +kind of father they may come from these are always to be dreaded), brought +it about that when we were now in mid-sea, and the night about three hours +spent, as we were running with all sail set and oars lashed, for the +favouring breeze saved us the trouble of using them, we saw by the light +of the moon, which shone brilliantly, a square-rigged vessel in full sail +close to us, luffing up and standing across our course, and so close that +we had to strike sail to avoid running foul of her, while they too put the +helm hard up to let us pass. They came to the side of the ship to ask who +we were, whither we were bound, and whence we came, but as they asked this +in French our renegade said, “Let no one answer, for no doubt these are +French corsairs who plunder all comers.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c41f" id="c41f"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c41f.jpg (268K)" src="images/c41f.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c41f.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Acting on this warning no one answered a word, but after we had gone a +little ahead, and the vessel was now lying to leeward, suddenly they fired +two guns, and apparently both loaded with chain-shot, for with one they +cut our mast in half and brought down both it and the sail into the sea, +and the other, discharged at the same moment, sent a ball into our vessel +amidships, staving her in completely, but without doing any further +damage. We, however, finding ourselves sinking began to shout for help and +call upon those in the ship to pick us up as we were beginning to fill. +They then lay to, and lowering a skiff or boat, as many as a dozen +Frenchmen, well armed with match-locks, and their matches burning, got +into it and came alongside; and seeing how few we were, and that our +vessel was going down, they took us in, telling us that this had come to +us through our incivility in not giving them an answer. Our renegade took +the trunk containing Zoraida’s wealth and dropped it into the sea without +anyone perceiving what he did. In short we went on board with the +Frenchmen, who, after having ascertained all they wanted to know about us, +rifled us of everything we had, as if they had been our bitterest enemies, +and from Zoraida they took even the anklets she wore on her feet; but the +distress they caused her did not distress me so much as the fear I was in +that from robbing her of her rich and precious jewels they would proceed +to rob her of the most precious jewel that she valued more than all. The +desires, however, of those people do not go beyond money, but of that +their covetousness is insatiable, and on this occasion it was carried to +such a pitch that they would have taken even the clothes we wore as +captives if they had been worth anything to them. It was the advice of +some of them to throw us all into the sea wrapped up in a sail; for their +purpose was to trade at some of the ports of Spain, giving themselves out +as Bretons, and if they brought us alive they would be punished as soon as +the robbery was discovered; but the captain (who was the one who had +plundered my beloved Zoraida) said he was satisfied with the prize he had +got, and that he would not touch at any Spanish port, but pass the Straits +of Gibraltar by night, or as best he could, and make for La Rochelle, from +which he had sailed. So they agreed by common consent to give us the skiff +belonging to their ship and all we required for the short voyage that +remained to us, and this they did the next day on coming in sight of the +Spanish coast, with which, and the joy we felt, all our sufferings and +miseries were as completely forgotten as if they had never been endured by +us, such is the delight of recovering lost liberty. +</p> +<p> +It may have been about mid-day when they placed us in the boat, giving us +two kegs of water and some biscuit; and the captain, moved by I know not +what compassion, as the lovely Zoraida was about to embark, gave her some +forty gold crowns, and would not permit his men to take from her those +same garments which she has on now. We got into the boat, returning them +thanks for their kindness to us, and showing ourselves grateful rather +than indignant. They stood out to sea, steering for the straits; we, +without looking to any compass save the land we had before us, set +ourselves to row with such energy that by sunset we were so near that we +might easily, we thought, land before the night was far advanced. But as +the moon did not show that night, and the sky was clouded, and as we knew +not whereabouts we were, it did not seem to us a prudent thing to make for +the shore, as several of us advised, saying we ought to run ourselves +ashore even if it were on rocks and far from any habitation, for in this +way we should be relieved from the apprehensions we naturally felt of the +prowling vessels of the Tetuan corsairs, who leave Barbary at nightfall +and are on the Spanish coast by daybreak, where they commonly take some +prize, and then go home to sleep in their own houses. But of the +conflicting counsels the one which was adopted was that we should approach +gradually, and land where we could if the sea were calm enough to permit +us. This was done, and a little before midnight we drew near to the foot +of a huge and lofty mountain, not so close to the sea but that it left a +narrow space on which to land conveniently. We ran our boat up on the +sand, and all sprang out and kissed the ground, and with tears of joyful +satisfaction returned thanks to God our Lord for all his incomparable +goodness to us on our voyage. We took out of the boat the provisions it +contained, and drew it up on the shore, and then climbed a long way up the +mountain, for even there we could not feel easy in our hearts, or persuade +ourselves that it was Christian soil that was now under our feet. +</p> +<p> +The dawn came, more slowly, I think, than we could have wished; we +completed the ascent in order to see if from the summit any habitation or +any shepherds’ huts could be discovered, but strain our eyes as we might, +neither dwelling, nor human being, nor path nor road could we perceive. +However, we determined to push on farther, as it could not but be that ere +long we must see some one who could tell us where we were. But what +distressed me most was to see Zoraida going on foot over that rough +ground; for though I once carried her on my shoulders, she was more +wearied by my weariness than rested by the rest; and so she would never +again allow me to undergo the exertion, and went on very patiently and +cheerfully, while I led her by the hand. We had gone rather less than a +quarter of a league when the sound of a little bell fell on our ears, a +clear proof that there were flocks hard by, and looking about carefully to +see if any were within view, we observed a young shepherd tranquilly and +unsuspiciously trimming a stick with his knife at the foot of a cork tree. +We called to him, and he, raising his head, sprang nimbly to his feet, +for, as we afterwards learned, the first who presented themselves to his +sight were the renegade and Zoraida, and seeing them in Moorish dress he +imagined that all the Moors of Barbary were upon him; and plunging with +marvellous swiftness into the thicket in front of him, he began to raise a +prodigious outcry, exclaiming, “The Moors—the Moors have landed! To +arms, to arms!” We were all thrown into perplexity by these cries, not +knowing what to do; but reflecting that the shouts of the shepherd would +raise the country and that the mounted coast-guard would come at once to +see what was the matter, we agreed that the renegade must strip off his +Turkish garments and put on a captive’s jacket or coat which one of our +party gave him at once, though he himself was reduced to his shirt; and so +commending ourselves to God, we followed the same road which we saw the +shepherd take, expecting every moment that the coast-guard would be down +upon us. Nor did our expectation deceive us, for two hours had not passed +when, coming out of the brushwood into the open ground, we perceived some +fifty mounted men swiftly approaching us at a hand-gallop. As soon as we +saw them we stood still, waiting for them; but as they came close and, +instead of the Moors they were in quest of, saw a set of poor Christians, +they were taken aback, and one of them asked if it could be we who were +the cause of the shepherd having raised the call to arms. I said “Yes,” +and as I was about to explain to him what had occurred, and whence we came +and who we were, one of the Christians of our party recognised the +horseman who had put the question to us, and before I could say anything +more he exclaimed: +</p> +<p> +“Thanks be to God, sirs, for bringing us to such good quarters; for, if I +do not deceive myself, the ground we stand on is that of Velez Malaga +unless, indeed, all my years of captivity have made me unable to recollect +that you, señor, who ask who we are, are Pedro de Bustamante, my uncle.” +</p> +<p> +The Christian captive had hardly uttered these words, when the horseman +threw himself off his horse, and ran to embrace the young man, crying: +</p> +<p> +“Nephew of my soul and life! I recognise thee now; and long have I mourned +thee as dead, I, and my sister, thy mother, and all thy kin that are still +alive, and whom God has been pleased to preserve that they may enjoy the +happiness of seeing thee. We knew long since that thou wert in Algiers, +and from the appearance of thy garments and those of all this company, I +conclude that ye have had a miraculous restoration to liberty.” +</p> +<p> +“It is true,” replied the young man, “and by-and-by we will tell you all.” +</p> +<p> +As soon as the horsemen understood that we were Christian captives, they +dismounted from their horses, and each offered his to carry us to the city +of Velez Malaga, which was a league and a half distant. Some of them went +to bring the boat to the city, we having told them where we had left it; +others took us up behind them, and Zoraida was placed on the horse of the +young man’s uncle. The whole town came out to meet us, for they had by +this time heard of our arrival from one who had gone on in advance. They +were not astonished to see liberated captives or captive Moors, for people +on that coast are well used to see both one and the other; but they were +astonished at the beauty of Zoraida, which was just then heightened, as +well by the exertion of travelling as by joy at finding herself on +Christian soil, and relieved of all fear of being lost; for this had +brought such a glow upon her face, that unless my affection for her were +deceiving me, I would venture to say that there was not a more beautiful +creature in the world—at least, that I had ever seen. We went +straight to the church to return thanks to God for the mercies we had +received, and when Zoraida entered it she said there were faces there like +Lela Marien’s. We told her they were her images; and as well as he could +the renegade explained to her what they meant, that she might adore them +as if each of them were the very same Lela Marien that had spoken to her; +and she, having great intelligence and a quick and clear instinct, +understood at once all he said to her about them. Thence they took us away +and distributed us all in different houses in the town; but as for the +renegade, Zoraida, and myself, the Christian who came with us brought us +to the house of his parents, who had a fair share of the gifts of fortune, +and treated us with as much kindness as they did their own son. +</p> +<p> +We remained six days in Velez, at the end of which the renegade, having +informed himself of all that was requisite for him to do, set out for the +city of Granada to restore himself to the sacred bosom of the Church +through the medium of the Holy Inquisition. The other released captives +took their departures, each the way that seemed best to him, and Zoraida +and I were left alone, with nothing more than the crowns which the +courtesy of the Frenchman had bestowed upon Zoraida, out of which I bought +the beast on which she rides; and, I for the present attending her as her +father and squire and not as her husband, we are now going to ascertain if +my father is living, or if any of my brothers has had better fortune than +mine has been; though, as Heaven has made me the companion of Zoraida, I +think no other lot could be assigned to me, however happy, that I would +rather have. The patience with which she endures the hardships that +poverty brings with it, and the eagerness she shows to become a Christian, +are such that they fill me with admiration, and bind me to serve her all +my life; though the happiness I feel in seeing myself hers, and her mine, +is disturbed and marred by not knowing whether I shall find any corner to +shelter her in my own country, or whether time and death may not have made +such changes in the fortunes and lives of my father and brothers, that I +shall hardly find anyone who knows me, if they are not alive. +</p> +<p> +I have no more of my story to tell you, gentlemen; whether it be an +interesting or a curious one let your better judgments decide; all I can +say is I would gladly have told it to you more briefly; although my fear +of wearying you has made me leave out more than one circumstance. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c41g" id="c41g"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c41g.jpg (33K)" src="images/c41g.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch42" id="ch42"></a>CHAPTER XLII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF WHAT FURTHER TOOK PLACE IN THE INN, AND OF SEVERAL OTHER +THINGS WORTH KNOWING +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c42a" id="c42a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c42a.jpg (139K)" src="images/c42a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c42a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +With these words the captive held his peace, and Don Fernando said to him, +“In truth, captain, the manner in which you have related this remarkable +adventure has been such as befitted the novelty and strangeness of the +matter. The whole story is curious and uncommon, and abounds with +incidents that fill the hearers with wonder and astonishment; and so great +is the pleasure we have found in listening to it that we should be glad if +it were to begin again, even though to-morrow were to find us still +occupied with the same tale.” And while he said this Cardenio and the rest +of them offered to be of service to him in any way that lay in their +power, and in words and language so kindly and sincere that the captain +was much gratified by their good-will. In particular Don Fernando offered, +if he would go back with him, to get his brother the marquis to become +godfather at the baptism of Zoraida, and on his own part to provide him +with the means of making his appearance in his own country with the credit +and comfort he was entitled to. For all this the captive returned thanks +very courteously, although he would not accept any of their generous +offers. +</p> +<p> +By this time night closed in, and as it did, there came up to the inn a +coach attended by some men on horseback, who demanded accommodation; to +which the landlady replied that there was not a hand’s breadth of the +whole inn unoccupied. +</p> +<p> +“Still, for all that,” said one of those who had entered on horseback, +“room must be found for his lordship the Judge here.” +</p> +<p> +At this name the landlady was taken aback, and said, “Señor, the fact is I +have no beds; but if his lordship the Judge carries one with him, as no +doubt he does, let him come in and welcome; for my husband and I will give +up our room to accommodate his worship.” +</p> +<p> +“Very good, so be it,” said the squire; but in the meantime a man had got +out of the coach whose dress indicated at a glance the office and post he +held, for the long robe with ruffled sleeves that he wore showed that he +was, as his servant said, a Judge of appeal. He led by the hand a young +girl in a travelling dress, apparently about sixteen years of age, and of +such a high-bred air, so beautiful and so graceful, that all were filled +with admiration when she made her appearance, and but for having seen +Dorothea, Luscinda, and Zoraida, who were there in the inn, they would +have fancied that a beauty like that of this maiden’s would have been hard +to find. Don Quixote was present at the entrance of the Judge with the +young lady, and as soon as he saw him he said, “Your worship may with +confidence enter and take your ease in this castle; for though the +accommodation be scanty and poor, there are no quarters so cramped or +inconvenient that they cannot make room for arms and letters; above all if +arms and letters have beauty for a guide and leader, as letters +represented by your worship have in this fair maiden, to whom not only +ought castles to throw themselves open and yield themselves up, but rocks +should rend themselves asunder and mountains divide and bow themselves +down to give her a reception. Enter, your worship, I say, into this +paradise, for here you will find stars and suns to accompany the heaven +your worship brings with you, here you will find arms in their supreme +excellence, and beauty in its highest perfection.” +</p> +<p> +The Judge was struck with amazement at the language of Don Quixote, whom +he scrutinized very carefully, no less astonished by his figure than by +his talk; and before he could find words to answer him he had a fresh +surprise, when he saw opposite to him Luscinda, Dorothea, and Zoraida, +who, having heard of the new guests and of the beauty of the young lady, +had come to see her and welcome her; Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the +curate, however, greeted him in a more intelligible and polished style. In +short, the Judge made his entrance in a state of bewilderment, as well +with what he saw as what he heard, and the fair ladies of the inn gave the +fair damsel a cordial welcome. On the whole he could perceive that all who +were there were people of quality; but with the figure, countenance, and +bearing of Don Quixote he was at his wits’ end; and all civilities having +been exchanged, and the accommodation of the inn inquired into, it was +settled, as it had been before settled, that all the women should retire +to the garret that has been already mentioned, and that the men should +remain outside as if to guard them; the Judge, therefore, was very well +pleased to allow his daughter, for such the damsel was, to go with the +ladies, which she did very willingly; and with part of the host’s narrow +bed and half of what the Judge had brought with him, they made a more +comfortable arrangement for the night than they had expected. +</p> +<p> +The captive, whose heart had leaped within him the instant he saw the +Judge, telling him somehow that this was his brother, asked one of the +servants who accompanied him what his name was, and whether he knew from +what part of the country he came. The servant replied that he was called +the Licentiate Juan Perez de Viedma, and that he had heard it said he came +from a village in the mountains of Leon. From this statement, and what he +himself had seen, he felt convinced that this was his brother who had +adopted letters by his father’s advice; and excited and rejoiced, he +called Don Fernando and Cardenio and the curate aside, and told them how +the matter stood, assuring them that the judge was his brother. The +servant had further informed him that he was now going to the Indies with +the appointment of Judge of the Supreme Court of Mexico; and he had +learned, likewise, that the young lady was his daughter, whose mother had +died in giving birth to her, and that he was very rich in consequence of +the dowry left to him with the daughter. He asked their advice as to what +means he should adopt to make himself known, or to ascertain beforehand +whether, when he had made himself known, his brother, seeing him so poor, +would be ashamed of him, or would receive him with a warm heart. +</p> +<p> +“Leave it to me to find out that,” said the curate; “though there is no +reason for supposing, señor captain, that you will not be kindly received, +because the worth and wisdom that your brother’s bearing shows him to +possess do not make it likely that he will prove haughty or insensible, or +that he will not know how to estimate the accidents of fortune at their +proper value.” +</p> +<p> +“Still,” said the captain, “I would not make myself known abruptly, but in +some indirect way.” +</p> +<p> +“I have told you already,” said the curate, “that I will manage it in a +way to satisfy us all.” +</p> +<p> +By this time supper was ready, and they all took their seats at the table, +except the captive, and the ladies, who supped by themselves in their own +room. In the middle of supper the curate said: +</p> +<p> +“I had a comrade of your worship’s name, Señor Judge, in Constantinople, +where I was a captive for several years, and that same comrade was one of +the stoutest soldiers and captains in the whole Spanish infantry; but he +had as large a share of misfortune as he had of gallantry and courage.” +</p> +<p> +“And how was the captain called, señor?” asked the Judge. +</p> +<p> +“He was called Ruy Perez de Viedma,” replied the curate, “and he was born +in a village in the mountains of Leon; and he mentioned a circumstance +connected with his father and his brothers which, had it not been told me +by so truthful a man as he was, I should have set down as one of those +fables the old women tell over the fire in winter; for he said his father +had divided his property among his three sons and had addressed words of +advice to them sounder than any of Cato’s. But I can say this much, that +the choice he made of going to the wars was attended with such success, +that by his gallant conduct and courage, and without any help save his own +merit, he rose in a few years to be captain of infantry, and to see +himself on the high-road and in position to be given the command of a +corps before long; but Fortune was against him, for where he might have +expected her favour he lost it, and with it his liberty, on that glorious +day when so many recovered theirs, at the battle of Lepanto. I lost mine +at the Goletta, and after a variety of adventures we found ourselves +comrades at Constantinople. Thence he went to Algiers, where he met with +one of the most extraordinary adventures that ever befell anyone in the +world.” +</p> +<p> +Here the curate went on to relate briefly his brother’s adventure with +Zoraida; to all which the Judge gave such an attentive hearing that he +never before had been so much of a hearer. The curate, however, only went +so far as to describe how the Frenchmen plundered those who were in the +boat, and the poverty and distress in which his comrade and the fair Moor +were left, of whom he said he had not been able to learn what became of +them, or whether they had reached Spain, or been carried to France by the +Frenchmen. +</p> +<p> +The captain, standing a little to one side, was listening to all the +curate said, and watching every movement of his brother, who, as soon as +he perceived the curate had made an end of his story, gave a deep sigh and +said with his eyes full of tears, “Oh, señor, if you only knew what news +you have given me and how it comes home to me, making me show how I feel +it with these tears that spring from my eyes in spite of all my worldly +wisdom and self-restraint! That brave captain that you speak of is my +eldest brother, who, being of a bolder and loftier mind than my other +brother or myself, chose the honourable and worthy calling of arms, which +was one of the three careers our father proposed to us, as your comrade +mentioned in that fable you thought he was telling you. I followed that of +letters, in which God and my own exertions have raised me to the position +in which you see me. My second brother is in Peru, so wealthy that with +what he has sent to my father and to me he has fully repaid the portion he +took with him, and has even furnished my father’s hands with the means of +gratifying his natural generosity, while I too have been enabled to pursue +my studies in a more becoming and creditable fashion, and so to attain my +present standing. My father is still alive, though dying with anxiety to +hear of his eldest son, and he prays God unceasingly that death may not +close his eyes until he has looked upon those of his son; but with regard +to him what surprises me is, that having so much common sense as he had, +he should have neglected to give any intelligence about himself, either in +his troubles and sufferings, or in his prosperity, for if his father or +any of us had known of his condition he need not have waited for that +miracle of the reed to obtain his ransom; but what now disquiets me is the +uncertainty whether those Frenchmen may have restored him to liberty, or +murdered him to hide the robbery. All this will make me continue my +journey, not with the satisfaction in which I began it, but in the deepest +melancholy and sadness. Oh dear brother! that I only knew where thou art +now, and I would hasten to seek thee out and deliver thee from thy +sufferings, though it were to cost me suffering myself! Oh that I could +bring news to our old father that thou art alive, even wert thou in the +deepest dungeon of Barbary; for his wealth and my brother’s and mine would +rescue thee thence! Oh beautiful and generous Zoraida, that I could repay +thy goodness to a brother! That I could be present at the new birth +of thy soul, and at thy bridal that would give us all such happiness!” +</p> +<p> +All this and more the Judge uttered with such deep emotion at the news he +had received of his brother that all who heard him shared in it, showing +their sympathy with his sorrow. The curate, seeing, then, how well he had +succeeded in carrying out his purpose and the captain’s wishes, had no +desire to keep them unhappy any longer, so he rose from the table and +going into the room where Zoraida was he took her by the hand, Luscinda, +Dorothea, and the Judge’s daughter following her. The captain was waiting +to see what the curate would do, when the latter, taking him with the +other hand, advanced with both of them to where the Judge and the other +gentlemen were and said, “Let your tears cease to flow, Señor Judge, and +the wish of your heart be gratified as fully as you could desire, for you +have before you your worthy brother and your good sister-in-law. He whom +you see here is the Captain Viedma, and this is the fair Moor who has been +so good to him. The Frenchmen I told you of have reduced them to the state +of poverty you see that you may show the generosity of your kind heart.” +</p> +<p> +The captain ran to embrace his brother, who placed both hands on his +breast so as to have a good look at him, holding him a little way off but +as soon as he had fully recognised him he clasped him in his arms so +closely, shedding such tears of heartfelt joy, that most of those present +could not but join in them. The words the brothers exchanged, the emotion +they showed can scarcely be imagined, I fancy, much less put down in +writing. They told each other in a few words the events of their lives; +they showed the true affection of brothers in all its strength; then the +judge embraced Zoraida, putting all he possessed at her disposal; then he +made his daughter embrace her, and the fair Christian and the lovely Moor +drew fresh tears from every eye. And there was Don Quixote observing all +these strange proceedings attentively without uttering a word, and +attributing the whole to chimeras of knight-errantry. Then they agreed +that the captain and Zoraida should return with his brother to Seville, +and send news to his father of his having been delivered and found, so as +to enable him to come and be present at the marriage and baptism of +Zoraida, for it was impossible for the Judge to put off his journey, as he +was informed that in a month from that time the fleet was to sail from +Seville for New Spain, and to miss the passage would have been a great +inconvenience to him. In short, everybody was well pleased and glad at the +captive’s good fortune; and as now almost two-thirds of the night were +past, they resolved to retire to rest for the remainder of it. Don Quixote +offered to mount guard over the castle lest they should be attacked by +some giant or other malevolent scoundrel, covetous of the great treasure +of beauty the castle contained. Those who understood him returned him +thanks for this service, and they gave the Judge an account of his +extraordinary humour, with which he was not a little amused. Sancho Panza +alone was fuming at the lateness of the hour for retiring to rest; and he +of all was the one that made himself most comfortable, as he stretched +himself on the trappings of his ass, which, as will be told farther on, +cost him so dear. +</p> +<p> +The ladies, then, having retired to their chamber, and the others having +disposed themselves with as little discomfort as they could, Don Quixote +sallied out of the inn to act as sentinel of the castle as he had +promised. It happened, however, that a little before the approach of dawn +a voice so musical and sweet reached the ears of the ladies that it forced +them all to listen attentively, but especially Dorothea, who had been +awake, and by whose side Dona Clara de Viedma, for so the Judge’s daughter +was called, lay sleeping. No one could imagine who it was that sang so +sweetly, and the voice was unaccompanied by any instrument. At one moment +it seemed to them as if the singer were in the courtyard, at another in +the stable; and as they were all attention, wondering, Cardenio came to +the door and said, “Listen, whoever is not asleep, and you will hear a +muleteer’s voice that enchants as it chants.” +</p> +<p> +“We are listening to it already, señor,” said Dorothea; on which Cardenio +went away; and Dorothea, giving all her attention to it, made out the +words of the song to be these: +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c42e" id="c42e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c42e.jpg (11K)" src="images/c42e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch43" id="ch43"></a>CHAPTER XLIII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHEREIN IS RELATED THE PLEASANT STORY OF THE MULETEER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER +STRANGE THINGS THAT CAME TO PASS IN THE INN +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c43a" id="c43a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c43a.jpg (127K)" src="images/c43a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c43a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah me, Love’s mariner am I +On Love’s deep ocean sailing; +I know not where the haven lies, +I dare not hope to gain it. + +One solitary distant star +Is all I have to guide me, +A brighter orb than those of old +That Palinurus lighted. + +And vaguely drifting am I borne, +I know not where it leads me; +I fix my gaze on it alone, +Of all beside it heedless. + +But over-cautious prudery, +And coyness cold and cruel, +When most I need it, these, like clouds, +Its longed-for light refuse me. + +Bright star, goal of my yearning eyes +As thou above me beamest, +When thou shalt hide thee from my sight +I’ll know that death is near me. +</pre> +<p> +The singer had got so far when it struck Dorothea that it was not fair to +let Clara miss hearing such a sweet voice, so, shaking her from side to +side, she woke her, saying: +</p> +<p> +“Forgive me, child, for waking thee, but I do so that thou mayest have the +pleasure of hearing the best voice thou hast ever heard, perhaps, in all +thy life.” +</p> +<p> +Clara awoke quite drowsy, and not understanding at the moment what +Dorothea said, asked her what it was; she repeated what she had said, and +Clara became attentive at once; but she had hardly heard two lines, as the +singer continued, when a strange trembling seized her, as if she were +suffering from a severe attack of quartan ague, and throwing her arms +round Dorothea she said: +</p> +<p> +“Ah, dear lady of my soul and life! why did you wake me? The greatest +kindness fortune could do me now would be to close my eyes and ears so as +neither to see or hear that unhappy musician.” +</p> +<p> +“What art thou talking about, child?” said Dorothea. “Why, they say this +singer is a muleteer!” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, he is the lord of many places,” replied Clara, “and that one in my +heart which he holds so firmly shall never be taken from him, unless he be +willing to surrender it.” +</p> +<p> +Dorothea was amazed at the ardent language of the girl, for it seemed to +be far beyond such experience of life as her tender years gave any promise +of, so she said to her: +</p> +<p> +“You speak in such a way that I cannot understand you, Señora Clara; +explain yourself more clearly, and tell me what is this you are saying +about hearts and places and this musician whose voice has so moved you? +But do not tell me anything now; I do not want to lose the pleasure I get +from listening to the singer by giving my attention to your transports, +for I perceive he is beginning to sing a new strain and a new air.” +</p> +<p> +“Let him, in Heaven’s name,” returned Clara; and not to hear him she +stopped both ears with her hands, at which Dorothea was again surprised; +but turning her attention to the song she found that it ran in this +fashion: +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sweet Hope, my stay, +That onward to the goal of thy intent +Dost make thy way, +Heedless of hindrance or impediment, +Have thou no fear +If at each step thou findest death is near. + +No victory, +No joy of triumph doth the faint heart know; +Unblest is he +That a bold front to Fortune dares not show, +But soul and sense +In bondage yieldeth up to indolence. + +If Love his wares +Do dearly sell, his right must be contest; +What gold compares +With that whereon his stamp he hath imprest? +And all men know +What costeth little that we rate but low. + +Love resolute +Knows not the word “impossibility;” +And though my suit +Beset by endless obstacles I see, +Yet no despair +Shall hold me bound to earth while heaven is there. +</pre> +<p> +Here the voice ceased and Clara’s sobs began afresh, all which excited +Dorothea’s curiosity to know what could be the cause of singing so sweet +and weeping so bitter, so she again asked her what it was she was going to +say before. On this Clara, afraid that Luscinda might overhear her, +winding her arms tightly round Dorothea put her mouth so close to her ear +that she could speak without fear of being heard by anyone else, and said: +</p> +<p> +“This singer, dear señora, is the son of a gentleman of Aragon, lord of +two villages, who lives opposite my father’s house at Madrid; and though +my father had curtains to the windows of his house in winter, and +lattice-work in summer, in some way—I know not how—this +gentleman, who was pursuing his studies, saw me, whether in church or +elsewhere, I cannot tell, and, in fact, fell in love with me, and gave me +to know it from the windows of his house, with so many signs and tears +that I was forced to believe him, and even to love him, without knowing +what it was he wanted of me. One of the signs he used to make me was to +link one hand in the other, to show me he wished to marry me; and though I +should have been glad if that could be, being alone and motherless I knew +not whom to open my mind to, and so I left it as it was, showing him no +favour, except when my father, and his too, were from home, to raise the +curtain or the lattice a little and let him see me plainly, at which he +would show such delight that he seemed as if he were going mad. Meanwhile +the time for my father’s departure arrived, which he became aware of, but +not from me, for I had never been able to tell him of it. He fell sick, of +grief I believe, and so the day we were going away I could not see him to +take farewell of him, were it only with the eyes. But after we had been +two days on the road, on entering the posada of a village a day’s journey +from this, I saw him at the inn door in the dress of a muleteer, and so +well disguised, that if I did not carry his image graven on my heart it +would have been impossible for me to recognise him. But I knew him, and I +was surprised, and glad; he watched me, unsuspected by my father, from +whom he always hides himself when he crosses my path on the road, or in +the posadas where we halt; and, as I know what he is, and reflect that for +love of me he makes this journey on foot in all this hardship, I am ready +to die of sorrow; and where he sets foot there I set my eyes. I know not +with what object he has come; or how he could have got away from his +father, who loves him beyond measure, having no other heir, and because he +deserves it, as you will perceive when you see him. And moreover, I can +tell you, all that he sings is out of his own head; for I have heard them +say he is a great scholar and poet; and what is more, every time I see him +or hear him sing I tremble all over, and am terrified lest my father +should recognise him and come to know of our loves. I have never spoken a +word to him in my life; and for all that I love him so that I could not +live without him. This, dear señora, is all I have to tell you about the +musician whose voice has delighted you so much; and from it alone you +might easily perceive he is no muleteer, but a lord of hearts and towns, +as I told you already.” +</p> +<p> +“Say no more, Dona Clara,” said Dorothea at this, at the same time kissing +her a thousand times over, “say no more, I tell you, but wait till day +comes; when I trust in God to arrange this affair of yours so that it may +have the happy ending such an innocent beginning deserves.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, señora,” said Dona Clara, “what end can be hoped for when his father +is of such lofty position, and so wealthy, that he would think I was not +fit to be even a servant to his son, much less wife? And as to marrying +without the knowledge of my father, I would not do it for all the world. I +would not ask anything more than that this youth should go back and leave +me; perhaps with not seeing him, and the long distance we shall have to +travel, the pain I suffer now may become easier; though I daresay the +remedy I propose will do me very little good. I don’t know how the devil +this has come about, or how this love I have for him got in; I such a +young girl, and he such a mere boy; for I verily believe we are both of an +age, and I am not sixteen yet; for I will be sixteen Michaelmas Day, next, +my father says.” +</p> +<p> +Dorothea could not help laughing to hear how like a child Dona Clara +spoke. “Let us go to sleep now, señora,” said she, “for the little of the +night that I fancy is left to us: God will soon send us daylight, and we +will set all to rights, or it will go hard with me.” +</p> +<p> +With this they fell asleep, and deep silence reigned all through the inn. +The only persons not asleep were the landlady’s daughter and her servant +Maritornes, who, knowing the weak point of Don Quixote’s humour, and that +he was outside the inn mounting guard in armour and on horseback, +resolved, the pair of them, to play some trick upon him, or at any rate to +amuse themselves for a while by listening to his nonsense. As it so +happened there was not a window in the whole inn that looked outwards +except a hole in the wall of a straw-loft through which they used to throw +out the straw. At this hole the two demi-damsels posted themselves, and +observed Don Quixote on his horse, leaning on his pike and from time to +time sending forth such deep and doleful sighs, that he seemed to pluck up +his soul by the roots with each of them; and they could hear him, too, +saying in a soft, tender, loving tone, “Oh my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, +perfection of all beauty, summit and crown of discretion, treasure house +of grace, depositary of virtue, and finally, ideal of all that is good, +honourable, and delectable in this world! What is thy grace doing now? Art +thou, perchance, mindful of thy enslaved knight who of his own free will +hath exposed himself to so great perils, and all to serve thee? Give me +tidings of her, oh luminary of the three faces! Perhaps at this moment, +envious of hers, thou art regarding her, either as she paces to and fro +some gallery of her sumptuous palaces, or leans over some balcony, +meditating how, whilst preserving her purity and greatness, she may +mitigate the tortures this wretched heart of mine endures for her sake, +what glory should recompense my sufferings, what repose my toil, and +lastly what death my life, and what reward my services? And thou, oh sun, +that art now doubtless harnessing thy steeds in haste to rise betimes and +come forth to see my lady; when thou seest her I entreat of thee to salute +her on my behalf: but have a care, when thou shalt see her and salute her, +that thou kiss not her face; for I shall be more jealous of thee than thou +wert of that light-footed ingrate that made thee sweat and run so on the +plains of Thessaly, or on the banks of the Peneus (for I do not exactly +recollect where it was thou didst run on that occasion) in thy jealousy +and love.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote had got so far in his pathetic speech when the landlady’s +daughter began to signal to him, saying, “Señor, come over here, please.” +</p> +<p> +At these signals and voice Don Quixote turned his head and saw by the +light of the moon, which then was in its full splendour, that some one was +calling to him from the hole in the wall, which seemed to him to be a +window, and what is more, with a gilt grating, as rich castles, such as he +believed the inn to be, ought to have; and it immediately suggested itself +to his imagination that, as on the former occasion, the fair damsel, the +daughter of the lady of the castle, overcome by love for him, was once +more endeavouring to win his affections; and with this idea, not to show +himself discourteous, or ungrateful, he turned Rocinante’s head and +approached the hole, and as he perceived the two wenches he said: +</p> +<p> +“I pity you, beauteous lady, that you should have directed your thoughts +of love to a quarter from whence it is impossible that such a return can +be made to you as is due to your great merit and gentle birth, for which +you must not blame this unhappy knight-errant whom love renders incapable +of submission to any other than her whom, the first moment his eyes beheld +her, he made absolute mistress of his soul. Forgive me, noble lady, and +retire to your apartment, and do not, by any further declaration of your +passion, compel me to show myself more ungrateful; and if, of the love you +bear me, you should find that there is anything else in my power wherein I +can gratify you, provided it be not love itself, demand it of me; for I +swear to you by that sweet absent enemy of mine to grant it this instant, +though it be that you require of me a lock of Medusa’s hair, which was all +snakes, or even the very beams of the sun shut up in a vial.” +</p> +<p> +“My mistress wants nothing of that sort, sir knight,” said Maritornes at +this. +</p> +<p> +“What then, discreet dame, is it that your mistress wants?” replied Don +Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“Only one of your fair hands,” said Maritornes, “to enable her to vent +over it the great passion, passion which has brought her to this loophole, +so much to the risk of her honour; for if the lord her father had heard +her, the least slice he would cut off her would be her ear.” +</p> +<p> +“I should like to see that tried,” said Don Quixote; “but he had better +beware of that, if he does not want to meet the most disastrous end that +ever father in the world met for having laid hands on the tender limbs of +a love-stricken daughter.” +</p> +<p> +Maritornes felt sure that Don Quixote would present the hand she had +asked, and making up her mind what to do, she got down from the hole and +went into the stable, where she took the halter of Sancho Panza’s ass, and +in all haste returned to the hole, just as Don Quixote had planted himself +standing on Rocinante’s saddle in order to reach the grated window where +he supposed the lovelorn damsel to be; and giving her his hand, he said, +“Lady, take this hand, or rather this scourge of the evil-doers of the +earth; take, I say, this hand which no other hand of woman has ever +touched, not even hers who has complete possession of my entire body. I +present it to you, not that you may kiss it, but that you may observe the +contexture of the sinews, the close network of the muscles, the breadth +and capacity of the veins, whence you may infer what must be the strength +of the arm that has such a hand.” +</p> +<p> +“That we shall see presently,” said Maritornes, and making a running knot +on the halter, she passed it over his wrist and coming down from the hole +tied the other end very firmly to the bolt of the door of the straw-loft. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote, feeling the roughness of the rope on his wrist, exclaimed, +“Your grace seems to be grating rather than caressing my hand; treat it +not so harshly, for it is not to blame for the offence my resolution has +given you, nor is it just to wreak all your vengeance on so small a part; +remember that one who loves so well should not revenge herself so +cruelly.” +</p> +<p> +But there was nobody now to listen to these words of Don Quixote’s, for as +soon as Maritornes had tied him she and the other made off, ready to die +with laughing, leaving him fastened in such a way that it was impossible +for him to release himself. +</p> +<p> +He was, as has been said, standing on Rocinante, with his arm passed +through the hole and his wrist tied to the bolt of the door, and in mighty +fear and dread of being left hanging by the arm if Rocinante were to stir +one side or the other; so he did not dare to make the least movement, +although from the patience and imperturbable disposition of Rocinante, he +had good reason to expect that he would stand without budging for a whole +century. Finding himself fast, then, and that the ladies had retired, he +began to fancy that all this was done by enchantment, as on the former +occasion when in that same castle that enchanted Moor of a carrier had +belaboured him; and he cursed in his heart his own want of sense and +judgment in venturing to enter the castle again, after having come off so +badly the first time; it being a settled point with knights-errant that +when they have tried an adventure, and have not succeeded in it, it is a +sign that it is not reserved for them but for others, and that therefore +they need not try it again. Nevertheless he pulled his arm to see if he +could release himself, but it had been made so fast that all his efforts +were in vain. It is true he pulled it gently lest Rocinante should move, +but try as he might to seat himself in the saddle, he had nothing for it +but to stand upright or pull his hand off. Then it was he wished for the +sword of Amadis, against which no enchantment whatever had any power; then +he cursed his ill fortune; then he magnified the loss the world would +sustain by his absence while he remained there enchanted, for that he +believed he was beyond all doubt; then he once more took to thinking of +his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso; then he called to his worthy squire +Sancho Panza, who, buried in sleep and stretched upon the pack-saddle of +his ass, was oblivious, at that moment, of the mother that bore him; then +he called upon the sages Lirgandeo and Alquife to come to his aid; then he +invoked his good friend Urganda to succour him; and then, at last, morning +found him in such a state of desperation and perplexity that he was +bellowing like a bull, for he had no hope that day would bring any relief +to his suffering, which he believed would last for ever, inasmuch as he +was enchanted; and of this he was convinced by seeing that Rocinante never +stirred, much or little, and he felt persuaded that he and his horse were +to remain in this state, without eating or drinking or sleeping, until the +malign influence of the stars was overpast, or until some other more sage +enchanter should disenchant him. +</p> +<p> +But he was very much deceived in this conclusion, for daylight had hardly +begun to appear when there came up to the inn four men on horseback, well +equipped and accoutred, with firelocks across their saddle-bows. They +called out and knocked loudly at the gate of the inn, which was still +shut; on seeing which, Don Quixote, even there where he was, did not +forget to act as sentinel, and said in a loud and imperious tone, +“Knights, or squires, or whatever ye be, ye have no right to knock at the +gates of this castle; for it is plain enough that they who are within are +either asleep, or else are not in the habit of throwing open the fortress +until the sun’s rays are spread over the whole surface of the earth. +Withdraw to a distance, and wait till it is broad daylight, and then we +shall see whether it will be proper or not to open to you.” +</p> +<p> +“What the devil fortress or castle is this,” said one, “to make us stand +on such ceremony? If you are the innkeeper bid them open to us; we are +travellers who only want to feed our horses and go on, for we are in +haste.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you think, gentlemen, that I look like an innkeeper?” said Don +Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know what you look like,” replied the other; “but I know that you +are talking nonsense when you call this inn a castle.” +</p> +<p> +“A castle it is,” returned Don Quixote, “nay, more, one of the best in +this whole province, and it has within it people who have had the sceptre +in the hand and the crown on the head.” +</p> +<p> +“It would be better if it were the other way,” said the traveller, “the +sceptre on the head and the crown in the hand; but if so, may be there is +within some company of players, with whom it is a common thing to have +those crowns and sceptres you speak of; for in such a small inn as this, +and where such silence is kept, I do not believe any people entitled to +crowns and sceptres can have taken up their quarters.” +</p> +<p> +“You know but little of the world,” returned Don Quixote, “since you are +ignorant of what commonly occurs in knight-errantry.” +</p> +<p> +But the comrades of the spokesman, growing weary of the dialogue with Don +Quixote, renewed their knocks with great vehemence, so much so that the +host, and not only he but everybody in the inn, awoke, and he got up to +ask who knocked. It happened at this moment that one of the horses of the +four who were seeking admittance went to smell Rocinante, who melancholy, +dejected, and with drooping ears stood motionless, supporting his sorely +stretched master; and as he was, after all, flesh, though he looked as if +he were made of wood, he could not help giving way and in return smelling +the one who had come to offer him attentions. But he had hardly moved at +all when Don Quixote lost his footing; and slipping off the saddle, he +would have come to the ground, but for being suspended by the arm, which +caused him such agony that he believed either his wrist would be cut +through or his arm torn off; and he hung so near the ground that he could +just touch it with his feet, which was all the worse for him; for, finding +how little was wanted to enable him to plant his feet firmly, he struggled +and stretched himself as much as he could to gain a footing; just like +those undergoing the torture of the strappado, when they are fixed at +“touch and no touch,” who aggravate their own sufferings by their violent +efforts to stretch themselves, deceived by the hope which makes them fancy +that with a very little more they will reach the ground. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c43b" id="c43b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c43b.jpg (272K)" src="images/c43b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c43b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c43e" id="c43e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c43e.jpg (20K)" src="images/c43e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch44" id="ch44"></a>CHAPTER XLIV. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURES OF THE INN +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c44a" id="c44a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c44a.jpg (144K)" src="images/c44a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c44a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +So loud, in fact, were the shouts of Don Quixote, that the landlord +opening the gate of the inn in all haste, came out in dismay, and ran to +see who was uttering such cries, and those who were outside joined him. +Maritornes, who had been by this time roused up by the same outcry, +suspecting what it was, ran to the loft and, without anyone seeing her, +untied the halter by which Don Quixote was suspended, and down he came to +the ground in the sight of the landlord and the travellers, who +approaching asked him what was the matter with him that he shouted so. He +without replying a word took the rope off his wrist, and rising to his +feet leaped upon Rocinante, braced his buckler on his arm, put his lance +in rest, and making a considerable circuit of the plain came back at a +half-gallop exclaiming: +</p> +<p> +“Whoever shall say that I have been enchanted with just cause, provided my +lady the Princess Micomicona grants me permission to do so, I give him the +lie, challenge him and defy him to single combat.” +</p> +<p> +The newly arrived travellers were amazed at the words of Don Quixote; but +the landlord removed their surprise by telling them who he was, and not to +mind him as he was out of his senses. They then asked the landlord if by +any chance a youth of about fifteen years of age had come to that inn, one +dressed like a muleteer, and of such and such an appearance, describing +that of Dona Clara’s lover. The landlord replied that there were so many +people in the inn he had not noticed the person they were inquiring for; +but one of them observing the coach in which the Judge had come, said, “He +is here no doubt, for this is the coach he is following: let one of us +stay at the gate, and the rest go in to look for him; or indeed it would +be as well if one of us went round the inn, lest he should escape over the +wall of the yard.” “So be it,” said another; and while two of them went +in, one remained at the gate and the other made the circuit of the inn; +observing all which, the landlord was unable to conjecture for what reason +they were taking all these precautions, though he understood they were +looking for the youth whose description they had given him. +</p> +<p> +It was by this time broad daylight; and for that reason, as well as in +consequence of the noise Don Quixote had made, everybody was awake and up, +but particularly Dona Clara and Dorothea; for they had been able to sleep +but badly that night, the one from agitation at having her lover so near +her, the other from curiosity to see him. Don Quixote, when he saw that +not one of the four travellers took any notice of him or replied to his +challenge, was furious and ready to die with indignation and wrath; and if +he could have found in the ordinances of chivalry that it was lawful for a +knight-errant to undertake or engage in another enterprise, when he had +plighted his word and faith not to involve himself in any until he had +made an end of the one to which he was pledged, he would have attacked the +whole of them, and would have made them return an answer in spite of +themselves. But considering that it would not become him, nor be right, to +begin any new emprise until he had established Micomicona in her kingdom, +he was constrained to hold his peace and wait quietly to see what would be +the upshot of the proceedings of those same travellers; one of whom found +the youth they were seeking lying asleep by the side of a muleteer, +without a thought of anyone coming in search of him, much less finding +him. +</p> +<p> +The man laid hold of him by the arm, saying, “It becomes you well indeed, +Señor Don Luis, to be in the dress you wear, and well the bed in which I +find you agrees with the luxury in which your mother reared you.” +</p> +<p> +The youth rubbed his sleepy eyes and stared for a while at him who held +him, but presently recognised him as one of his father’s servants, at +which he was so taken aback that for some time he could not find or utter +a word; while the servant went on to say, “There is nothing for it now, +Señor Don Luis, but to submit quietly and return home, unless it is your +wish that my lord, your father, should take his departure for the other +world, for nothing else can be the consequence of the grief he is in at +your absence.” +</p> +<p> +“But how did my father know that I had gone this road and in this dress?” +said Don Luis. +</p> +<p> +“It was a student to whom you confided your intentions,” answered the +servant, “that disclosed them, touched with pity at the distress he saw +your father suffer on missing you; he therefore despatched four of his +servants in quest of you, and here we all are at your service, better +pleased than you can imagine that we shall return so soon and be able to +restore you to those eyes that so yearn for you.” +</p> +<p> +“That shall be as I please, or as heaven orders,” returned Don Luis. +</p> +<p> +“What can you please or heaven order,” said the other, “except to agree to +go back? Anything else is impossible.” +</p> +<p> +All this conversation between the two was overheard by the muleteer at +whose side Don Luis lay, and rising, he went to report what had taken +place to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the others, who had by this time +dressed themselves; and told them how the man had addressed the youth as +“Don,” and what words had passed, and how he wanted him to return to his +father, which the youth was unwilling to do. With this, and what they +already knew of the rare voice that heaven had bestowed upon him, they all +felt very anxious to know more particularly who he was, and even to help +him if it was attempted to employ force against him; so they hastened to +where he was still talking and arguing with his servant. Dorothea at this +instant came out of her room, followed by Dona Clara all in a tremor; and +calling Cardenio aside, she told him in a few words the story of the +musician and Dona Clara, and he at the same time told her what had +happened, how his father’s servants had come in search of him; but in +telling her so, he did not speak low enough but that Dona Clara heard what +he said, at which she was so much agitated that had not Dorothea hastened +to support her she would have fallen to the ground. Cardenio then bade +Dorothea return to her room, as he would endeavour to make the whole +matter right, and they did as he desired. All the four who had come in +quest of Don Luis had now come into the inn and surrounded him, urging him +to return and console his father at once and without a moment’s delay. He +replied that he could not do so on any account until he had concluded some +business in which his life, honour, and heart were at stake. The servants +pressed him, saying that most certainly they would not return without him, +and that they would take him away whether he liked it or not. +</p> +<p> +“You shall not do that,” replied Don Luis, “unless you take me dead; +though however you take me, it will be without life.” +</p> +<p> +By this time most of those in the inn had been attracted by the dispute, +but particularly Cardenio, Don Fernando, his companions, the Judge, the +curate, the barber, and Don Quixote; for he now considered there was no +necessity for mounting guard over the castle any longer. Cardenio being +already acquainted with the young man’s story, asked the men who wanted to +take him away, what object they had in seeking to carry off this youth +against his will. +</p> +<p> +“Our object,” said one of the four, “is to save the life of his father, +who is in danger of losing it through this gentleman’s disappearance.” +</p> +<p> +Upon this Don Luis exclaimed, “There is no need to make my affairs public +here; I am free, and I will return if I please; and if not, none of you +shall compel me.” +</p> +<p> +“Reason will compel your worship,” said the man, “and if it has no power +over you, it has power over us, to make us do what we came for, and what +it is our duty to do.” +</p> +<p> +“Let us hear what the whole affair is about,” said the Judge at this; but +the man, who knew him as a neighbour of theirs, replied, “Do you not know +this gentleman, Señor Judge? He is the son of your neighbour, who has run +away from his father’s house in a dress so unbecoming his rank, as your +worship may perceive.” +</p> +<p> +The judge on this looked at him more carefully and recognised him, and +embracing him said, “What folly is this, Señor Don Luis, or what can have +been the cause that could have induced you to come here in this way, and +in this dress, which so ill becomes your condition?” +</p> +<p> +Tears came into the eyes of the young man, and he was unable to utter a +word in reply to the Judge, who told the four servants not to be uneasy, +for all would be satisfactorily settled; and then taking Don Luis by the +hand, he drew him aside and asked the reason of his having come there. +</p> +<p> +But while he was questioning him they heard a loud outcry at the gate of +the inn, the cause of which was that two of the guests who had passed the +night there, seeing everybody busy about finding out what it was the four +men wanted, had conceived the idea of going off without paying what they +owed; but the landlord, who minded his own affairs more than other +people’s, caught them going out of the gate and demanded his reckoning, +abusing them for their dishonesty with such language that he drove them to +reply with their fists, and so they began to lay on him in such a style +that the poor man was forced to cry out, and call for help. The landlady +and her daughter could see no one more free to give aid than Don Quixote, +and to him the daughter said, “Sir knight, by the virtue God has given +you, help my poor father, for two wicked men are beating him to a mummy.” +</p> +<p> +To which Don Quixote very deliberately and phlegmatically replied, “Fair +damsel, at the present moment your request is inopportune, for I am +debarred from involving myself in any adventure until I have brought to a +happy conclusion one to which my word has pledged me; but that which I can +do for you is what I will now mention: run and tell your father to stand +his ground as well as he can in this battle, and on no account to allow +himself to be vanquished, while I go and request permission of the +Princess Micomicona to enable me to succour him in his distress; and if +she grants it, rest assured I will relieve him from it.” +</p> +<p> +“Sinner that I am,” exclaimed Maritornes, who stood by; “before you have +got your permission my master will be in the other world.” +</p> +<p> +“Give me leave, señora, to obtain the permission I speak of,” returned Don +Quixote; “and if I get it, it will matter very little if he is in the +other world; for I will rescue him thence in spite of all the same world +can do; or at any rate I will give you such a revenge over those who shall +have sent him there that you will be more than moderately satisfied;” and +without saying anything more he went and knelt before Dorothea, requesting +her Highness in knightly and errant phrase to be pleased to grant him +permission to aid and succour the castellan of that castle, who now stood +in grievous jeopardy. The princess granted it graciously, and he at once, +bracing his buckler on his arm and drawing his sword, hastened to the +inn-gate, where the two guests were still handling the landlord roughly; +but as soon as he reached the spot he stopped short and stood still, +though Maritornes and the landlady asked him why he hesitated to help +their master and husband. +</p> +<p> +“I hesitate,” said Don Quixote, “because it is not lawful for me to draw +sword against persons of squirely condition; but call my squire Sancho to +me; for this defence and vengeance are his affair and business.” +</p> +<p> +Thus matters stood at the inn-gate, where there was a very lively exchange +of fisticuffs and punches, to the sore damage of the landlord and to the +wrath of Maritornes, the landlady, and her daughter, who were furious when +they saw the pusillanimity of Don Quixote, and the hard treatment their +master, husband and father was undergoing. But let us leave him there; for +he will surely find some one to help him, and if not, let him suffer and +hold his tongue who attempts more than his strength allows him to do; and +let us go back fifty paces to see what Don Luis said in reply to the Judge +whom we left questioning him privately as to his reasons for coming on +foot and so meanly dressed. +</p> +<p> +To which the youth, pressing his hand in a way that showed his heart was +troubled by some great sorrow, and shedding a flood of tears, made answer: +</p> +<p> +“Señor, I have no more to tell you than that from the moment when, through +heaven’s will and our being near neighbours, I first saw Dona Clara, your +daughter and my lady, from that instant I made her the mistress of my +will, and if yours, my true lord and father, offers no impediment, this +very day she shall become my wife. For her I left my father’s house, and +for her I assumed this disguise, to follow her whithersoever she may go, +as the arrow seeks its mark or the sailor the pole-star. She knows nothing +more of my passion than what she may have learned from having sometimes +seen from a distance that my eyes were filled with tears. You know +already, señor, the wealth and noble birth of my parents, and that I am +their sole heir; if this be a sufficient inducement for you to venture to +make me completely happy, accept me at once as your son; for if my father, +influenced by other objects of his own, should disapprove of this +happiness I have sought for myself, time has more power to alter and +change things, than human will.” +</p> +<p> +With this the love-smitten youth was silent, while the Judge, after +hearing him, was astonished, perplexed, and surprised, as well at the +manner and intelligence with which Don Luis had confessed the secret of +his heart, as at the position in which he found himself, not knowing what +course to take in a matter so sudden and unexpected. All the answer, +therefore, he gave him was to bid him to make his mind easy for the +present, and arrange with his servants not to take him back that day, so +that there might be time to consider what was best for all parties. Don +Luis kissed his hands by force, nay, bathed them with his tears, in a way +that would have touched a heart of marble, not to say that of the Judge, +who, as a shrewd man, had already perceived how advantageous the marriage +would be to his daughter; though, were it possible, he would have +preferred that it should be brought about with the consent of the father +of Don Luis, who he knew looked for a title for his son. +</p> +<p> +The guests had by this time made peace with the landlord, for, by +persuasion and Don Quixote’s fair words more than by threats, they had +paid him what he demanded, and the servants of Don Luis were waiting for +the end of the conversation with the Judge and their master’s decision, +when the devil, who never sleeps, contrived that the barber, from whom Don +Quixote had taken Mambrino’s helmet, and Sancho Panza the trappings of his +ass in exchange for those of his own, should at this instant enter the +inn; which said barber, as he led his ass to the stable, observed Sancho +Panza engaged in repairing something or other belonging to the +pack-saddle; and the moment he saw it he knew it, and made bold to attack +Sancho, exclaiming, “Ho, sir thief, I have caught you! hand over my basin +and my pack-saddle, and all my trappings that you robbed me of.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho, finding himself so unexpectedly assailed, and hearing the abuse +poured upon him, seized the pack-saddle with one hand, and with the other +gave the barber a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood. The barber, +however, was not so ready to relinquish the prize he had made in the +pack-saddle; on the contrary, he raised such an outcry that everyone in +the inn came running to know what the noise and quarrel meant. “Here, in +the name of the king and justice!” he cried, “this thief and highwayman +wants to kill me for trying to recover my property.” +</p> +<p> +“You lie,” said Sancho, “I am no highwayman; it was in fair war my master +Don Quixote won these spoils.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote was standing by at the time, highly pleased to see his +squire’s stoutness, both offensive and defensive, and from that time forth +he reckoned him a man of mettle, and in his heart resolved to dub him a +knight on the first opportunity that presented itself, feeling sure that +the order of chivalry would be fittingly bestowed upon him. +</p> +<p> +In the course of the altercation, among other things the barber said, +“Gentlemen, this pack-saddle is mine as surely as I owe God a death, and I +know it as well as if I had given birth to it, and here is my ass in the +stable who will not let me lie; only try it, and if it does not fit him +like a glove, call me a rascal; and what is more, the same day I was +robbed of this, they robbed me likewise of a new brass basin, never yet +handselled, that would fetch a crown any day.” +</p> +<p> +At this Don Quixote could not keep himself from answering; and interposing +between the two, and separating them, he placed the pack-saddle on the +ground, to lie there in sight until the truth was established, and said, +“Your worships may perceive clearly and plainly the error under which this +worthy squire lies when he calls a basin which was, is, and shall be the +helmet of Mambrino which I won from him in fair war, and made myself master +of by legitimate and lawful possession. With the pack-saddle I do not +concern myself; but I may tell you on that head that my squire Sancho +asked my permission to strip off the caparison of this vanquished +poltroon’s steed, and with it adorn his own; I allowed him, and he took +it; and as to its having been changed from a caparison into a pack-saddle, +I can give no explanation except the usual one, that such transformations +will take place in adventures of chivalry. To confirm all which, run, +Sancho my son, and fetch hither the helmet which this good fellow calls a +basin.” +</p> +<p> +“Egad, master,” said Sancho, “if we have no other proof of our case than +what your worship puts forward, Mambrino’s helmet is just as much a basin +as this good fellow’s caparison is a pack-saddle.” +</p> +<p> +“Do as I bid thee,” said Don Quixote; “it cannot be that everything in +this castle goes by enchantment.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho hastened to where the basin was, and brought it back with him, and +when Don Quixote saw it, he took hold of it and said: +</p> +<p> +“Your worships may see with what a face this squire can assert that this +is a basin and not the helmet I told you of; and I swear by the order of +chivalry I profess, that this helmet is the identical one I took from him, +without anything added to or taken from it.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no doubt of that,” said Sancho, “for from the time my master won +it until now he has only fought one battle in it, when he let loose those +unlucky men in chains; and if had not been for this basin-helmet he would +not have come off over well that time, for there was plenty of +stone-throwing in that affair.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c44e" id="c44e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c44e.jpg (13K)" src="images/c44e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch45" id="ch45"></a>CHAPTER XLV. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH THE DOUBTFUL QUESTION OF MAMBRINO’S HELMET AND THE PACK-SADDLE IS +FINALLY SETTLED, WITH OTHER ADVENTURES THAT OCCURRED IN TRUTH AND EARNEST +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c45a" id="c45a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c45a.jpg (154K)" src="images/c45a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c45a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“What do you think now, gentlemen,” said the barber, “of what these +gentles say, when they want to make out that this is a helmet?” +</p> +<p> +“And whoever says the contrary,” said Don Quixote, “I will let him know he +lies if he is a knight, and if he is a squire that he lies again a +thousand times.” +</p> +<p> +Our own barber, who was present at all this, and understood Don Quixote’s +humour so thoroughly, took it into his head to back up his delusion and +carry on the joke for the general amusement; so addressing the other +barber he said: +</p> +<p> +“Señor barber, or whatever you are, you must know that I belong to your +profession too, and have had a licence to practise for more than twenty +years, and I know the implements of the barber craft, every one of them, +perfectly well; and I was likewise a soldier for some time in the days of +my youth, and I know also what a helmet is, and a morion, and a headpiece +with a visor, and other things pertaining to soldiering, I meant to say to +soldiers’ arms; and I say—saving better opinions and always with +submission to sounder judgments—that this piece we have now before +us, which this worthy gentleman has in his hands, not only is no barber’s +basin, but is as far from being one as white is from black, and truth from +falsehood; I say, moreover, that this, although it is a helmet, is not a +complete helmet.” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly not,” said Don Quixote, “for half of it is wanting, that is to +say the beaver.” +</p> +<p> +“It is quite true,” said the curate, who saw the object of his friend the +barber; and Cardenio, Don Fernando and his companions agreed with him, and +even the Judge, if his thoughts had not been so full of Don Luis’s affair, +would have helped to carry on the joke; but he was so taken up with the +serious matters he had on his mind that he paid little or no attention to +these facetious proceedings. +</p> +<p> +“God bless me!” exclaimed their butt the barber at this; “is it possible +that such an honourable company can say that this is not a basin but a +helmet? Why, this is a thing that would astonish a whole university, +however wise it might be! That will do; if this basin is a helmet, why, +then the pack-saddle must be a horse’s caparison, as this gentleman has +said.” +</p> +<p> +“To me it looks like a pack-saddle,” said Don Quixote; “but I have already +said that with that question I do not concern myself.” +</p> +<p> +“As to whether it be pack-saddle or caparison,” said the curate, “it is +only for Señor Don Quixote to say; for in these matters of chivalry all +these gentlemen and I bow to his authority.” +</p> +<p> +“By God, gentlemen,” said Don Quixote, “so many strange things have +happened to me in this castle on the two occasions on which I have +sojourned in it, that I will not venture to assert anything positively in +reply to any question touching anything it contains; for it is my belief +that everything that goes on within it goes by enchantment. The first +time, an enchanted Moor that there is in it gave me sore trouble, nor did +Sancho fare well among certain followers of his; and last night I was kept +hanging by this arm for nearly two hours, without knowing how or why I +came by such a mishap. So that now, for me to come forward to give an +opinion in such a puzzling matter, would be to risk a rash decision. As +regards the assertion that this is a basin and not a helmet I have already +given an answer; but as to the question whether this is a pack-saddle or a +caparison I will not venture to give a positive opinion, but will leave it +to your worships’ better judgment. Perhaps as you are not dubbed knights +like myself, the enchantments of this place have nothing to do with you, +and your faculties are unfettered, and you can see things in this castle +as they really and truly are, and not as they appear to me.” +</p> +<p> +“There can be no question,” said Don Fernando on this, “but that Señor Don +Quixote has spoken very wisely, and that with us rests the decision of +this matter; and that we may have surer ground to go on, I will take the +votes of the gentlemen in secret, and declare the result clearly and +fully.” +</p> +<p> +To those who were in on the secret of Don Quixote’s humour all this afforded +great amusement; but to those who knew nothing about it, it seemed the +greatest nonsense in the world, in particular to the four servants of Don +Luis, as well as to Don Luis himself, and to three other travellers who +had by chance come to the inn, and had the appearance of officers of the +Holy Brotherhood, as indeed they were; but the one who above all was at +his wits’ end was the barber whose basin, there before his very eyes, had been +turned into Mambrino’s helmet, and whose pack-saddle he had no doubt +whatever was about to become a rich caparison for a horse. All laughed to +see Don Fernando going from one to another collecting the votes, and +whispering to them to give him their private opinion whether the treasure +over which there had been so much fighting was a pack-saddle or a +caparison; but after he had taken the votes of those who knew Don Quixote, +he said aloud, “The fact is, my good fellow, that I am tired collecting +such a number of opinions, for I find that there is not one of whom I ask +what I desire to know, who does not tell me that it is absurd to say that +this is the pack-saddle of an ass, and not the caparison of a horse, nay, +of a thoroughbred horse; so you must submit, for, in spite of you and your +ass, this is a caparison and no pack-saddle, and you have stated and +proved your case very badly.” +</p> +<p> +“May I never share heaven,” said the poor barber, “if your worships are +not all mistaken; and may my soul appear before God as that appears to me +a pack-saddle and not a caparison; but, ‘laws go,’—I say no more; +and indeed I am not drunk, for I am fasting, except it be from sin.” +</p> +<p> +The simple talk of the barber did not afford less amusement than the +absurdities of Don Quixote, who now observed: +</p> +<p> +“There is no more to be done now than for each to take what belongs to +him, and to whom God has given it, may St. Peter add his blessing.” +</p> +<p> +But said one of the four servants, “Unless, indeed, this is a deliberate +joke, I cannot bring myself to believe that men so intelligent as those +present are, or seem to be, can venture to declare and assert that this is +not a basin, and that not a pack-saddle; but as I perceive that they do +assert and declare it, I can only come to the conclusion that there is +some mystery in this persistence in what is so opposed to the evidence of +experience and truth itself; for I swear by”—and here he rapped out +a round oath—“all the people in the world will not make me believe +that this is not a barber’s basin and that a jackass’s pack-saddle.” +</p> +<p> +“It might easily be a she-ass’s,” observed the curate. +</p> +<p> +“It is all the same,” said the servant; “that is not the point; but +whether it is or is not a pack-saddle, as your worships say.” +</p> +<p> +On hearing this one of the newly arrived officers of the Brotherhood, who +had been listening to the dispute and controversy, unable to restrain his +anger and impatience, exclaimed, “It is a pack-saddle as sure as my father +is my father, and whoever has said or will say anything else must be +drunk.” +</p> +<p> +“You lie like a rascally clown,” returned Don Quixote; and lifting his +pike, which he had never let out of his hand, he delivered such a blow at +his head that, had not the officer dodged it, it would have stretched him +at full length. The pike was shivered in pieces against the ground, and +the rest of the officers, seeing their comrade assaulted, raised a shout, +calling for help for the Holy Brotherhood. The landlord, who was of the +fraternity, ran at once to fetch his staff of office and his sword, and +ranged himself on the side of his comrades; the servants of Don Luis +clustered round him, lest he should escape from them in the confusion; the +barber, seeing the house turned upside down, once more laid hold of his +pack-saddle and Sancho did the same; Don Quixote drew his sword and +charged the officers; Don Luis cried out to his servants to leave him +alone and go and help Don Quixote, and Cardenio and Don Fernando, who were +supporting him; the curate was shouting at the top of his voice, the +landlady was screaming, her daughter was wailing, Maritornes was weeping, +Dorothea was aghast, Luscinda terror-stricken, and Dona Clara in a faint. +The barber cudgelled Sancho, and Sancho pommelled the barber; Don Luis +gave one of his servants, who ventured to catch him by the arm to keep him +from escaping, a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood; the Judge took his +part; Don Fernando had got one of the officers down and was belabouring +him heartily; the landlord raised his voice again calling for help for the +Holy Brotherhood; so that the whole inn was nothing but cries, shouts, +shrieks, confusion, terror, dismay, mishaps, sword-cuts, fisticuffs, +cudgellings, kicks, and bloodshed; and in the midst of all this chaos, +complication, and general entanglement, Don Quixote took it into his head +that he had been plunged into the thick of the discord of Agramante’s +camp; and, in a voice that shook the inn like thunder, he cried out: +</p> +<p> +“Hold all, let all sheathe their swords, let all be calm and attend to me +as they value their lives!” +</p> +<p> +All paused at his mighty voice, and he went on to say, “Did I not tell +you, sirs, that this castle was enchanted, and that a legion or so of +devils dwelt in it? In proof whereof I call upon you to behold with your +own eyes how the discord of Agramante’s camp has come hither, and been +transferred into the midst of us. See how they fight, there for the sword, +here for the horse, on that side for the eagle, on this for the helmet; we +are all fighting, and all at cross purposes. Come then, you, Señor Judge, +and you, señor curate; let the one represent King Agramante and the other +King Sobrino, and make peace among us; for by God Almighty it is a sorry +business that so many persons of quality as we are should slay one another +for such trifling cause.” The officers, who did not understand Don +Quixote’s mode of speaking, and found themselves roughly handled by Don +Fernando, Cardenio, and their companions, were not to be appeased; the +barber was, however, for both his beard and his pack-saddle were the worse +for the struggle; Sancho like a good servant obeyed the slightest word of +his master; while the four servants of Don Luis kept quiet when they saw +how little they gained by not being so. The landlord alone insisted upon +it that they must punish the insolence of this madman, who at every turn +raised a disturbance in the inn; but at length the uproar was stilled for +the present; the pack-saddle remained a caparison till the day of +judgment, and the basin a helmet and the inn a castle in Don Quixote’s +imagination. +</p> +<p> +All having been now pacified and made friends by the persuasion of the +Judge and the curate, the servants of Don Luis began again to urge him to +return with them at once; and while he was discussing the matter with +them, the Judge took counsel with Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the curate +as to what he ought to do in the case, telling them how it stood, and what +Don Luis had said to him. It was agreed at length that Don Fernando should +tell the servants of Don Luis who he was, and that it was his desire that +Don Luis should accompany him to Andalusia, where he would receive from +the marquis his brother the welcome his quality entitled him to; for, +otherwise, it was easy to see from the determination of Don Luis that he +would not return to his father at present, though they tore him to pieces. +On learning the rank of Don Fernando and the resolution of Don Luis the +four then settled it between themselves that three of them should return +to tell his father how matters stood, and that the other should remain to +wait upon Don Luis, and not leave him until they came back for him, or his +father’s orders were known. Thus by the authority of Agramante and the +wisdom of King Sobrino all this complication of disputes was arranged; but +the enemy of concord and hater of peace, feeling himself slighted and made +a fool of, and seeing how little he had gained after having involved them +all in such an elaborate entanglement, resolved to try his hand once more +by stirring up fresh quarrels and disturbances. +</p> +<p> +It came about in this wise: the officers were pacified on learning the +rank of those with whom they had been engaged, and withdrew from the +contest, considering that whatever the result might be they were likely to +get the worst of the battle; but one of them, the one who had been +thrashed and kicked by Don Fernando, recollected that among some warrants +he carried for the arrest of certain delinquents, he had one against Don +Quixote, whom the Holy Brotherhood had ordered to be arrested for setting +the galley slaves free, as Sancho had, with very good reason, apprehended. +Suspecting how it was, then, he wished to satisfy himself as to whether +Don Quixote’s features corresponded; and taking a parchment out of his +bosom he lit upon what he was in search of, and setting himself to read it +deliberately, for he was not a quick reader, as he made out each word he +fixed his eyes on Don Quixote, and went on comparing the description in +the warrant with his face, and discovered that beyond all doubt he was the +person described in it. As soon as he had satisfied himself, folding up +the parchment, he took the warrant in his left hand and with his right +seized Don Quixote by the collar so tightly that he did not allow him to +breathe, and shouted aloud, “Help for the Holy Brotherhood! and that you +may see I demand it in earnest, read this warrant which says this +highwayman is to be arrested.” +</p> +<p> +The curate took the warrant and saw that what the officer said was true, +and that it agreed with Don Quixote’s appearance, who, on his part, when +he found himself roughly handled by this rascally clown, worked up to the +highest pitch of wrath, and all his joints cracking with rage, with both +hands seized the officer by the throat with all his might, so that had he +not been helped by his comrades he would have yielded up his life ere Don +Quixote released his hold. The landlord, who had perforce to support his +brother officers, ran at once to aid them. The landlady, when she saw her +husband engaged in a fresh quarrel, lifted up her voice afresh, and its +note was immediately caught up by Maritornes and her daughter, calling +upon heaven and all present for help; and Sancho, seeing what was going +on, exclaimed, “By the Lord, it is quite true what my master says about +the enchantments of this castle, for it is impossible to live an hour in +peace in it!” +</p> +<p> +Don Fernando parted the officer and Don Quixote, and to their mutual +contentment made them relax the grip by which they held, the one the coat +collar, the other the throat of his adversary; for all this, however, the +officers did not cease to demand their prisoner and call on them to help, +and deliver him over bound into their power, as was required for the +service of the King and of the Holy Brotherhood, on whose behalf they +again demanded aid and assistance to effect the capture of this robber and +footpad of the highways. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote smiled when he heard these words, and said very calmly, “Come +now, base, ill-born brood; call ye it highway robbery to give freedom to +those in bondage, to release the captives, to succour the miserable, to +raise up the fallen, to relieve the needy? Infamous beings, who by your +vile grovelling intellects deserve that heaven should not make known to +you the virtue that lies in knight-errantry, or show you the sin and +ignorance in which ye lie when ye refuse to respect the shadow, not to say +the presence, of any knight-errant! Come now; band, not of officers, but +of thieves; footpads with the licence of the Holy Brotherhood; tell me who +was the ignoramus who signed a warrant of arrest against such a knight as +I am? Who was he that did not know that knights-errant are independent of +all jurisdictions, that their law is their sword, their charter their +prowess, and their edicts their will? Who, I say again, was the fool that +knows not that there are no letters patent of nobility that confer such +privileges or exemptions as a knight-errant acquires the day he is dubbed +a knight, and devotes himself to the arduous calling of chivalry? What +knight-errant ever paid poll-tax, duty, queen’s pin-money, king’s dues, +toll or ferry? What tailor ever took payment of him for making his +clothes? What castellan that received him in his castle ever made him pay +his shot? What king did not seat him at his table? What damsel was not +enamoured of him and did not yield herself up wholly to his will and +pleasure? And, lastly, what knight-errant has there been, is there, or +will there ever be in the world, not bold enough to give, single-handed, +four hundred cudgellings to four hundred officers of the Holy Brotherhood +if they come in his way?” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch46" id="ch46"></a>CHAPTER XLVI. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE END OF THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE OFFICERS OF THE HOLY +BROTHERHOOD; AND OF THE GREAT FEROCITY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT, DON QUIXOTE +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c46a" id="c46a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c46a.jpg (163K)" src="images/c46a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c46a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +While Don Quixote was talking in this strain, the curate was endeavouring +to persuade the officers that he was out of his senses, as they might +perceive by his deeds and his words, and that they need not press the +matter any further, for even if they arrested him and carried him off, +they would have to release him by-and-by as a madman; to which the holder +of the warrant replied that he had nothing to do with inquiring into Don +Quixote’s madness, but only to execute his superior’s orders, and that +once taken they might let him go three hundred times if they liked. +</p> +<p> +“For all that,” said the curate, “you must not take him away this time, +nor will he, it is my opinion, let himself be taken away.” +</p> +<p> +In short, the curate used such arguments, and Don Quixote did such mad +things, that the officers would have been more mad than he was if they had +not perceived his want of wits, and so they thought it best to allow +themselves to be pacified, and even to act as peacemakers between the +barber and Sancho Panza, who still continued their altercation with much +bitterness. In the end they, as officers of justice, settled the question +by arbitration in such a manner that both sides were, if not perfectly +contented, at least to some extent satisfied; for they changed the +pack-saddles, but not the girths or head-stalls; and as to Mambrino’s +helmet, the curate, under the rose and without Don Quixote’s knowing it, +paid eight reals for the basin, and the barber executed a full receipt and +engagement to make no further demand then or thenceforth for evermore, +amen. These two disputes, which were the most important and gravest, being +settled, it only remained for the servants of Don Luis to consent that +three of them should return while one was left to accompany him whither +Don Fernando desired to take him; and good luck and better fortune, having +already begun to solve difficulties and remove obstructions in favour of +the lovers and warriors of the inn, were pleased to persevere and bring +everything to a happy issue; for the servants agreed to do as Don Luis +wished; which gave Dona Clara such happiness that no one could have looked +into her face just then without seeing the joy of her heart. Zoraida, +though she did not fully comprehend all she saw, was grave or gay without +knowing why, as she watched and studied the various countenances, but +particularly her Spaniard’s, whom she followed with her eyes and clung to +with her soul. The gift and compensation which the curate gave the barber +had not escaped the landlord’s notice, and he demanded Don Quixote’s +reckoning, together with the amount of the damage to his wine-skins, and +the loss of his wine, swearing that neither Rocinante nor Sancho’s ass +should leave the inn until he had been paid to the very last farthing. The +curate settled all amicably, and Don Fernando paid; though the Judge had +also very readily offered to pay the score; and all became so peaceful and +quiet that the inn no longer reminded one of the discord of Agramante’s +camp, as Don Quixote said, but of the peace and tranquillity of the days +of Octavianus: for all which it was the universal opinion that their +thanks were due to the great zeal and eloquence of the curate, and to the +unexampled generosity of Don Fernando. +</p> +<p> +Finding himself now clear and quit of all quarrels, his squire’s as well +as his own, Don Quixote considered that it would be advisable to continue +the journey he had begun, and bring to a close that great adventure for +which he had been called and chosen; and with this high resolve he went +and knelt before Dorothea, who, however, would not allow him to utter a +word until he had risen; so to obey her he rose, and said, “It is a common +proverb, fair lady, that ‘diligence is the mother of good fortune,’ and +experience has often shown in important affairs that the earnestness of +the negotiator brings the doubtful case to a successful termination; but +in nothing does this truth show itself more plainly than in war, where +quickness and activity forestall the devices of the enemy, and win the +victory before the foe has time to defend himself. All this I say, exalted +and esteemed lady, because it seems to me that for us to remain any longer +in this castle now is useless, and may be injurious to us in a way that we +shall find out some day; for who knows but that your enemy the giant may +have learned by means of secret and diligent spies that I am going to +destroy him, and if the opportunity be given him he may seize it to +fortify himself in some impregnable castle or stronghold, against which +all my efforts and the might of my indefatigable arm may avail but little? +Therefore, lady, let us, as I say, forestall his schemes by our activity, +and let us depart at once in quest of fair fortune; for your highness is +only kept from enjoying it as fully as you could desire by my delay in +encountering your adversary.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote held his peace and said no more, calmly awaiting the reply of +the beauteous princess, who, with commanding dignity and in a style +adapted to Don Quixote’s own, replied to him in these words, “I give you +thanks, sir knight, for the eagerness you, like a good knight to whom it +is a natural obligation to succour the orphan and the needy, display to +afford me aid in my sore trouble; and heaven grant that your wishes and +mine may be realised, so that you may see that there are women in this +world capable of gratitude; as to my departure, let it be forthwith, for I +have no will but yours; dispose of me entirely in accordance with your +good pleasure; for she who has once entrusted to you the defence of her +person, and placed in your hands the recovery of her dominions, must not +think of offering opposition to that which your wisdom may ordain.” +</p> +<p> +“On, then, in God’s name,” said Don Quixote; “for, when a lady humbles +herself to me, I will not lose the opportunity of raising her up and +placing her on the throne of her ancestors. Let us depart at once, for the +common saying that in delay there is danger, lends spurs to my eagerness +to take the road; and as neither heaven has created nor hell seen any that +can daunt or intimidate me, saddle Rocinante, Sancho, and get ready thy +ass and the queen’s palfrey, and let us take leave of the castellan and +these gentlemen, and go hence this very instant.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho, who was standing by all the time, said, shaking his head, “Ah! +master, master, there is more mischief in the village than one hears of, +begging all good bodies’ pardon.” +</p> +<p> +“What mischief can there be in any village, or in all the cities of the +world, you booby, that can hurt my reputation?” said Don Quixote. +</p> +<p> +“If your worship is angry,” replied Sancho, “I will hold my tongue and +leave unsaid what as a good squire I am bound to say, and what a good +servant should tell his master.” +</p> +<p> +“Say what thou wilt,” returned Don Quixote, “provided thy words be not +meant to work upon my fears; for thou, if thou fearest, art behaving like +thyself; but I like myself, in not fearing.” +</p> +<p> +“It is nothing of the sort, as I am a sinner before God,” said Sancho, +“but that I take it to be sure and certain that this lady, who calls +herself queen of the great kingdom of Micomicon, is no more so than my +mother; for, if she was what she says, she would not go rubbing noses with +one that is here every instant and behind every door.” +</p> +<p> +Dorothea turned red at Sancho’s words, for the truth was that her husband +Don Fernando had now and then, when the others were not looking, gathered +from her lips some of the reward his love had earned, and Sancho seeing +this had considered that such freedom was more like a courtesan than a +queen of a great kingdom; she, however, being unable or not caring to +answer him, allowed him to proceed, and he continued, “This I say, señor, +because, if after we have travelled roads and highways, and passed bad +nights and worse days, one who is now enjoying himself in this inn is to +reap the fruit of our labours, there is no need for me to be in a hurry to +saddle Rocinante, put the pad on the ass, or get ready the palfrey; for it +will be better for us to stay quiet, and let every jade mind her spinning, +and let us go to dinner.” +</p> +<p> +Good God, what was the indignation of Don Quixote when he heard the +audacious words of his squire! So great was it, that in a voice +inarticulate with rage, with a stammering tongue, and eyes that flashed +living fire, he exclaimed, “Rascally clown, boorish, insolent, and +ignorant, ill-spoken, foul-mouthed, impudent backbiter and slanderer! Hast +thou dared to utter such words in my presence and in that of these +illustrious ladies? Hast thou dared to harbour such gross and shameless +thoughts in thy muddled imagination? Begone from my presence, thou born +monster, storehouse of lies, hoard of untruths, garner of knaveries, +inventor of scandals, publisher of absurdities, enemy of the respect due +to royal personages! Begone, show thyself no more before me under pain of +my wrath;” and so saying he knitted his brows, puffed out his cheeks, +gazed around him, and stamped on the ground violently with his right foot, +showing in every way the rage that was pent up in his heart; and at his +words and furious gestures Sancho was so scared and terrified that he +would have been glad if the earth had opened that instant and swallowed +him, and his only thought was to turn round and make his escape from the +angry presence of his master. +</p> +<p> +But the ready-witted Dorothea, who by this time so well understood Don +Quixote’s humour, said, to mollify his wrath, “Be not irritated at the +absurdities your good squire has uttered, Sir Knight of the Rueful +Countenance, for perhaps he did not utter them without cause, and from his +good sense and Christian conscience it is not likely that he would bear +false witness against anyone. We may therefore believe, without any +hesitation, that since, as you say, sir knight, everything in this castle +goes and is brought about by means of enchantment, Sancho, I say, may +possibly have seen, through this diabolical medium, what he says he saw so +much to the detriment of my modesty.” +</p> +<p> +“I swear by God Omnipotent,” exclaimed Don Quixote at this, “your highness +has hit the point; and that some vile illusion must have come before this +sinner of a Sancho, that made him see what it would have been impossible +to see by any other means than enchantments; for I know well enough, from +the poor fellow’s goodness and harmlessness, that he is incapable of +bearing false witness against anybody.” +</p> +<p> +“True, no doubt,” said Don Fernando, “for which reason, Señor Don Quixote, +you ought to forgive him and restore him to the bosom of your favour, +sicut erat in principio, before illusions of this sort had taken away his +senses.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote said he was ready to pardon him, and the curate went for +Sancho, who came in very humbly, and falling on his knees begged for the +hand of his master, who having presented it to him and allowed him to kiss +it, gave him his blessing and said, “Now, Sancho my son, thou wilt be +convinced of the truth of what I have many a time told thee, that +everything in this castle is done by means of enchantment.” +</p> +<p> +“So it is, I believe,” said Sancho, “except the affair of the blanket, +which came to pass in reality by ordinary means.” +</p> +<p> +“Believe it not,” said Don Quixote, “for had it been so, I would have +avenged thee that instant, or even now; but neither then nor now could I, +nor have I seen anyone upon whom to avenge thy wrong.” +</p> +<p> +They were all eager to know what the affair of the blanket was, and the +landlord gave them a minute account of Sancho’s flights, at which they +laughed not a little, and at which Sancho would have been no less out of +countenance had not his master once more assured him it was all +enchantment. For all that his simplicity never reached so high a pitch +that he could persuade himself it was not the plain and simple truth, +without any deception whatever about it, that he had been blanketed by +beings of flesh and blood, and not by visionary and imaginary phantoms, as +his master believed and protested. +</p> +<p> +The illustrious company had now been two days in the inn; and as it seemed +to them time to depart, they devised a plan so that, without giving +Dorothea and Don Fernando the trouble of going back with Don Quixote to +his village under pretence of restoring Queen Micomicona, the curate and +the barber might carry him away with them as they proposed, and the curate +be able to take his madness in hand at home; and in pursuance of their +plan they arranged with the owner of an oxcart who happened to be passing +that way to carry him after this fashion. They constructed a kind of cage +with wooden bars, large enough to hold Don Quixote comfortably; and then +Don Fernando and his companions, the servants of Don Luis, and the +officers of the Brotherhood, together with the landlord, by the directions +and advice of the curate, covered their faces and disguised themselves, +some in one way, some in another, so as to appear to Don Quixote quite +different from the persons he had seen in the castle. This done, in +profound silence they entered the room where he was asleep, taking his +rest after the past frays, and advancing to where he was sleeping +tranquilly, not dreaming of anything of the kind happening, they seized +him firmly and bound him fast hand and foot, so that, when he awoke +startled, he was unable to move, and could only marvel and wonder at the +strange figures he saw before him; upon which he at once gave way to the +idea which his crazed fancy invariably conjured up before him, and took it +into his head that all these shapes were phantoms of the enchanted castle, +and that he himself was unquestionably enchanted as he could neither move +nor help himself; precisely what the curate, the concoctor of the scheme, +expected would happen. Of all that were there Sancho was the only one who +was at once in his senses and in his own proper character, and he, though +he was within very little of sharing his master’s infirmity, did not fail +to perceive who all these disguised figures were; but he did not dare to +open his lips until he saw what came of this assault and capture of his +master; nor did the latter utter a word, waiting to the upshot of his +mishap; which was that bringing in the cage, they shut him up in it and +nailed the bars so firmly that they could not be easily burst open. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c46b" id="c46b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c46b.jpg (342K)" src="images/c46b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c46b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +They then took him on their shoulders, and as they passed out of the room +an awful voice—as much so as the barber, not he of the pack-saddle +but the other, was able to make it—was heard to say, “O Knight of +the Rueful Countenance, let not this captivity in which thou art placed +afflict thee, for this must needs be, for the more speedy accomplishment +of the adventure in which thy great heart has engaged thee; the which +shall be accomplished when the raging Manchegan lion and the white Tobosan +dove shall be linked together, having first humbled their haughty necks to +the gentle yoke of matrimony. And from this marvellous union shall come +forth to the light of the world brave whelps that shall rival the ravening +claws of their valiant father; and this shall come to pass ere the pursuer +of the flying nymph shall in his swift natural course have twice visited +the starry signs. And thou, O most noble and obedient squire that ever +bore sword at side, beard on face, or nose to smell with, be not dismayed +or grieved to see the flower of knight-errantry carried away thus before +thy very eyes; for soon, if it so please the Framer of the universe, thou +shalt see thyself exalted to such a height that thou shalt not know +thyself, and the promises which thy good master has made thee shall not +prove false; and I assure thee, on the authority of the sage Mentironiana, +that thy wages shall be paid thee, as thou shalt see in due season. Follow +then the footsteps of the valiant enchanted knight, for it is expedient +that thou shouldst go to the destination assigned to both of you; and as +it is not permitted to me to say more, God be with thee; for I return to +that place I wot of;” and as he brought the prophecy to a close he raised +his voice to a high pitch, and then lowered it to such a soft tone, that +even those who knew it was all a joke were almost inclined to take what +they heard seriously. +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote was comforted by the prophecy he heard, for he at once +comprehended its meaning perfectly, and perceived it was promised to him +that he should see himself united in holy and lawful matrimony with his +beloved Dulcinea del Toboso, from whose blessed womb should proceed the +whelps, his sons, to the eternal glory of La Mancha; and being thoroughly +and firmly persuaded of this, he lifted up his voice, and with a deep sigh +exclaimed, “Oh thou, whoever thou art, who hast foretold me so much good, +I implore of thee that on my part thou entreat that sage enchanter who +takes charge of my interests, that he leave me not to perish in this +captivity in which they are now carrying me away, ere I see fulfilled +promises so joyful and incomparable as those which have been now made me; +for, let this but come to pass, and I shall glory in the pains of my +prison, find comfort in these chains wherewith they bind me, and regard +this bed whereon they stretch me, not as a hard battle-field, but as a +soft and happy nuptial couch; and touching the consolation of Sancho +Panza, my squire, I rely upon his goodness and rectitude that he will not +desert me in good or evil fortune; for if, by his ill luck or mine, it may +not happen to be in my power to give him the island I have promised, or +any equivalent for it, at least his wages shall not be lost; for in my +will, which is already made, I have declared the sum that shall be paid to +him, measured, not by his many faithful services, but by the means at my +disposal.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho bowed his head very respectfully and kissed both his hands, for, +being tied together, he could not kiss one; and then the apparitions +lifted the cage upon their shoulders and fixed it upon the ox-cart. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c46e" id="c46e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c46e.jpg (56K)" src="images/c46e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c46e.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch47" id="ch47"></a>CHAPTER XLVII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WAS CARRIED AWAY +ENCHANTED, TOGETHER WITH OTHER REMARKABLE INCIDENTS +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c47a" id="c47a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c47a.jpg (181K)" src="images/c47a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c47a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +When Don Quixote saw himself caged and hoisted on the cart in this way, he +said, “Many grave histories of knights-errant have I read; but never yet +have I read, seen, or heard of their carrying off enchanted knights-errant +in this fashion, or at the slow pace that these lazy, sluggish animals +promise; for they always take them away through the air with marvellous +swiftness, enveloped in a dark thick cloud, or on a chariot of fire, or it +may be on some hippogriff or other beast of the kind; but to carry me off +like this on an ox-cart! By God, it puzzles me! But perhaps the chivalry +and enchantments of our day take a different course from that of those in +days gone by; and it may be, too, that as I am a new knight in the world, +and the first to revive the already forgotten calling of +knight-adventurers, they may have newly invented other kinds of +enchantments and other modes of carrying off the enchanted. What thinkest +thou of the matter, Sancho my son?” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c47b" id="c47b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c47b.jpg (357K)" src="images/c47b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c47b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know what to think,” answered Sancho, “not being as well read as +your worship in errant writings; but for all that I venture to say and +swear that these apparitions that are about us are not quite catholic.” +</p> +<p> +“Catholic!” said Don Quixote. “Father of me! how can they be Catholic when +they are all devils that have taken fantastic shapes to come and do this, +and bring me to this condition? And if thou wouldst prove it, touch them, +and feel them, and thou wilt find they have only bodies of air, and no +consistency except in appearance.” +</p> +<p> +“By God, master,” returned Sancho, “I have touched them already; and that +devil, that goes about there so busily, has firm flesh, and another +property very different from what I have heard say devils have, for by all +accounts they all smell of brimstone and other bad smells; but this one +smells of amber half a league off.” Sancho was here speaking of Don +Fernando, who, like a gentleman of his rank, was very likely perfumed as +Sancho said. +</p> +<p> +“Marvel not at that, Sancho my friend,” said Don Quixote; “for let me tell +thee devils are crafty; and even if they do carry odours about with them, +they themselves have no smell, because they are spirits; or, if they have +any smell, they cannot smell of anything sweet, but of something foul and +fetid; and the reason is that as they carry hell with them wherever they +go, and can get no ease whatever from their torments, and as a sweet smell +is a thing that gives pleasure and enjoyment, it is impossible that they +can smell sweet; if, then, this devil thou speakest of seems to thee to +smell of amber, either thou art deceiving thyself, or he wants to deceive +thee by making thee fancy he is not a devil.” +</p> +<p> +Such was the conversation that passed between master and man; and Don +Fernando and Cardenio, apprehensive of Sancho’s making a complete +discovery of their scheme, towards which he had already gone some way, +resolved to hasten their departure, and calling the landlord aside, they +directed him to saddle Rocinante and put the pack-saddle on Sancho’s ass, +which he did with great alacrity. In the meantime the curate had made an +arrangement with the officers that they should bear them company as far as +his village, he paying them so much a day. Cardenio hung the buckler on +one side of the bow of Rocinante’s saddle and the basin on the other, and +by signs commanded Sancho to mount his ass and take Rocinante’s bridle, +and at each side of the cart he placed two officers with their muskets; +but before the cart was put in motion, out came the landlady and her +daughter and Maritornes to bid Don Quixote farewell, pretending to weep +with grief at his misfortune; and to them Don Quixote said: +</p> +<p> +“Weep not, good ladies, for all these mishaps are the lot of those who +follow the profession I profess; and if these reverses did not befall me I +should not esteem myself a famous knight-errant; for such things never +happen to knights of little renown and fame, because nobody in the world +thinks about them; to valiant knights they do, for these are envied for +their virtue and valour by many princes and other knights who compass the +destruction of the worthy by base means. Nevertheless, virtue is of +herself so mighty, that, in spite of all the magic that Zoroaster its +first inventor knew, she will come victorious out of every trial, and shed +her light upon the earth as the sun does upon the heavens. Forgive me, +fair ladies, if, through inadvertence, I have in aught offended you; for +intentionally and wittingly I have never done so to any; and pray to God +that he deliver me from this captivity to which some malevolent enchanter +has consigned me; and should I find myself released therefrom, the favours +that ye have bestowed upon me in this castle shall be held in memory by +me, that I may acknowledge, recognise, and requite them as they deserve.” +</p> +<p> +While this was passing between the ladies of the castle and Don Quixote, +the curate and the barber bade farewell to Don Fernando and his +companions, to the captain, his brother, and the ladies, now all made +happy, and in particular to Dorothea and Luscinda. They all embraced one +another, and promised to let each other know how things went with them, +and Don Fernando directed the curate where to write to him, to tell him +what became of Don Quixote, assuring him that there was nothing that could +give him more pleasure than to hear of it, and that he too, on his part, +would send him word of everything he thought he would like to know, about +his marriage, Zoraida’s baptism, Don Luis’s affair, and Luscinda’s return +to her home. The curate promised to comply with his request carefully, and +they embraced once more, and renewed their promises. +</p> +<p> +The landlord approached the curate and handed him some papers, saying he +had discovered them in the lining of the valise in which the novel of “The +Ill-advised Curiosity” had been found, and that he might take them all +away with him as their owner had not since returned; for, as he could not +read, he did not want them himself. The curate thanked him, and opening +them he saw at the beginning of the manuscript the words, “Novel of +Rinconete and Cortadillo,” by which he perceived that it was a novel, and +as that of “The Ill-advised Curiosity” had been good he concluded this +would be so too, as they were both probably by the same author; so he kept +it, intending to read it when he had an opportunity. He then mounted and +his friend the barber did the same, both masked, so as not to be +recognised by Don Quixote, and set out following in the rear of the cart. +The order of march was this: first went the cart with the owner leading +it; at each side of it marched the officers of the Brotherhood, as has +been said, with their muskets; then followed Sancho Panza on his ass, +leading Rocinante by the bridle; and behind all came the curate and the +barber on their mighty mules, with faces covered, as aforesaid, and a +grave and serious air, measuring their pace to suit the slow steps of the +oxen. Don Quixote was seated in the cage, with his hands tied and his feet +stretched out, leaning against the bars as silent and as patient as if he +were a stone statue and not a man of flesh. Thus slowly and silently they +made, it might be, two leagues, until they reached a valley which the +carter thought a convenient place for resting and feeding his oxen, and he +said so to the curate, but the barber was of opinion that they ought to +push on a little farther, as at the other side of a hill which appeared +close by he knew there was a valley that had more grass and much better +than the one where they proposed to halt; and his advice was taken and +they continued their journey. +</p> +<p> +Just at that moment the curate, looking back, saw coming on behind them +six or seven mounted men, well found and equipped, who soon overtook them, +for they were travelling, not at the sluggish, deliberate pace of oxen, +but like men who rode canons’ mules, and in haste to take their noontide +rest as soon as possible at the inn which was in sight not a league off. +The quick travellers came up with the slow, and courteous salutations were +exchanged; and one of the new comers, who was, in fact, a canon of Toledo +and master of the others who accompanied him, observing the regular order +of the procession, the cart, the officers, Sancho, Rocinante, the curate +and the barber, and above all Don Quixote caged and confined, could not +help asking what was the meaning of carrying the man in that fashion; +though, from the badges of the officers, he already concluded that he must +be some desperate highwayman or other malefactor whose punishment fell +within the jurisdiction of the Holy Brotherhood. One of the officers to +whom he had put the question, replied, “Let the gentleman himself tell you +the meaning of his going this way, señor, for we do not know.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote overheard the conversation and said, “Haply, gentlemen, you +are versed and learned in matters of errant chivalry? Because if you are I +will tell you my misfortunes; if not, there is no good in my giving myself +the trouble of relating them;” but here the curate and the barber, seeing +that the travellers were engaged in conversation with Don Quixote, came +forward, in order to answer in such a way as to save their stratagem from +being discovered. +</p> +<p> +The canon, replying to Don Quixote, said, “In truth, brother, I know more +about books of chivalry than I do about Villalpando’s elements of logic; +so if that be all, you may safely tell me what you please.” +</p> +<p> +“In God’s name, then, señor,” replied Don Quixote; “if that be so, I would +have you know that I am held enchanted in this cage by the envy and fraud +of wicked enchanters; for virtue is more persecuted by the wicked than +loved by the good. I am a knight-errant, and not one of those whose names +Fame has never thought of immortalising in her record, but of those who, +in defiance and in spite of envy itself, and all the magicians that +Persia, or Brahmans that India, or Gymnosophists that Ethiopia ever +produced, will place their names in the temple of immortality, to serve as +examples and patterns for ages to come, whereby knights-errant may see the +footsteps in which they must tread if they would attain the summit and +crowning point of honour in arms.” +</p> +<p> +“What Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha says,” observed the curate, “is the +truth; for he goes enchanted in this cart, not from any fault or sins of +his, but because of the malevolence of those to whom virtue is odious and +valour hateful. This, señor, is the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, if +you have ever heard him named, whose valiant achievements and mighty deeds +shall be written on lasting brass and imperishable marble, notwithstanding +all the efforts of envy to obscure them and malice to hide them.” +</p> +<p> +When the canon heard both the prisoner and the man who was at liberty talk +in such a strain he was ready to cross himself in his astonishment, and +could not make out what had befallen him; and all his attendants were in +the same state of amazement. +</p> +<p> +At this point Sancho Panza, who had drawn near to hear the conversation, +said, in order to make everything plain, “Well, sirs, you may like or +dislike what I am going to say, but the fact of the matter is, my master, +Don Quixote, is just as much enchanted as my mother. He is in his full +senses, he eats and he drinks, and he has his calls like other men and as +he had yesterday, before they caged him. And if that’s the case, what do +they mean by wanting me to believe that he is enchanted? For I have heard +many a one say that enchanted people neither eat, nor sleep, nor talk; and +my master, if you don’t stop him, will talk more than thirty lawyers.” +Then turning to the curate he exclaimed, “Ah, señor curate, señor curate! +do you think I don’t know you? Do you think I don’t guess and see the +drift of these new enchantments? Well then, I can tell you I know you, for +all your face is covered, and I can tell you I am up to you, however you +may hide your tricks. After all, where envy reigns virtue cannot live, and +where there is niggardliness there can be no liberality. Ill betide the +devil! if it had not been for your worship my master would be married to +the Princess Micomicona this minute, and I should be a count at least; for +no less was to be expected, as well from the goodness of my master, him of +the Rueful Countenance, as from the greatness of my services. But I see +now how true it is what they say in these parts, that the wheel of fortune +turns faster than a mill-wheel, and that those who were up yesterday are +down to-day. I am sorry for my wife and children, for when they might +fairly and reasonably expect to see their father return to them a governor +or viceroy of some island or kingdom, they will see him come back a +horse-boy. I have said all this, señor curate, only to urge your paternity +to lay to your conscience your ill-treatment of my master; and have a care +that God does not call you to account in another life for making a +prisoner of him in this way, and charge against you all the succours and +good deeds that my lord Don Quixote leaves undone while he is shut up. +</p> +<p> +“Trim those lamps there!” exclaimed the barber at this; “so you are of the +same fraternity as your master, too, Sancho? By God, I begin to see that +you will have to keep him company in the cage, and be enchanted like him +for having caught some of his humour and chivalry. It was an evil hour +when you let yourself be got with child by his promises, and that island +you long so much for found its way into your head.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not with child by anyone,” returned Sancho, “nor am I a man to let +myself be got with child, if it was by the King himself. Though I am poor +I am an old Christian, and I owe nothing to nobody, and if I long for an +island, other people long for worse. Each of us is the son of his own +works; and being a man I may come to be pope, not to say governor of an +island, especially as my master may win so many that he will not know whom +to give them to. Mind how you talk, master barber; for shaving is not +everything, and there is some difference between Peter and Peter. I say +this because we all know one another, and it will not do to throw false +dice with me; and as to the enchantment of my master, God knows the truth; +leave it as it is; it only makes it worse to stir it.” +</p> +<p> +The barber did not care to answer Sancho lest by his plain speaking he +should disclose what the curate and he himself were trying so hard to +conceal; and under the same apprehension the curate had asked the canon to +ride on a little in advance, so that he might tell him the mystery of this +man in the cage, and other things that would amuse him. The canon agreed, +and going on ahead with his servants, listened with attention to the +account of the character, life, madness, and ways of Don Quixote, given +him by the curate, who described to him briefly the beginning and origin +of his craze, and told him the whole story of his adventures up to his +being confined in the cage, together with the plan they had of taking him +home to try if by any means they could discover a cure for his madness. +The canon and his servants were surprised anew when they heard Don +Quixote’s strange story, and when it was finished he said, “To tell the +truth, señor curate, I for my part consider what they call books of +chivalry to be mischievous to the State; and though, led by idle and false +taste, I have read the beginnings of almost all that have been printed, I +never could manage to read any one of them from beginning to end; for it +seems to me they are all more or less the same thing; and one has nothing +more in it than another; this no more than that. And in my opinion this +sort of writing and composition is of the same species as the fables they +call the Milesian, nonsensical tales that aim solely at giving amusement +and not instruction, exactly the opposite of the apologue fables which +amuse and instruct at the same time. And though it may be the chief object +of such books to amuse, I do not know how they can succeed, when they are +so full of such monstrous nonsense. For the enjoyment the mind feels must +come from the beauty and harmony which it perceives or contemplates in the +things that the eye or the imagination brings before it; and nothing that +has any ugliness or disproportion about it can give any pleasure. What +beauty, then, or what proportion of the parts to the whole, or of the +whole to the parts, can there be in a book or fable where a lad of sixteen +cuts down a giant as tall as a tower and makes two halves of him as if he +was an almond cake? And when they want to give us a picture of a battle, +after having told us that there are a million of combatants on the side of +the enemy, let the hero of the book be opposed to them, and we have +perforce to believe, whether we like it or not, that the said knight wins +the victory by the single might of his strong arm. And then, what shall we +say of the facility with which a born queen or empress will give herself +over into the arms of some unknown wandering knight? What mind, that is +not wholly barbarous and uncultured, can find pleasure in reading of how a +great tower full of knights sails away across the sea like a ship with a +fair wind, and will be to-night in Lombardy and to-morrow morning in the +land of Prester John of the Indies, or some other that Ptolemy never +described nor Marco Polo saw? And if, in answer to this, I am told that +the authors of books of the kind write them as fiction, and therefore are +not bound to regard niceties of truth, I would reply that fiction is all +the better the more it looks like truth, and gives the more pleasure the +more probability and possibility there is about it. Plots in fiction +should be wedded to the understanding of the reader, and be constructed in +such a way that, reconciling impossibilities, smoothing over difficulties, +keeping the mind on the alert, they may surprise, interest, divert, and +entertain, so that wonder and delight joined may keep pace one with the +other; all which he will fail to effect who shuns verisimilitude and truth +to nature, wherein lies the perfection of writing. I have never yet seen +any book of chivalry that puts together a connected plot complete in all +its numbers, so that the middle agrees with the beginning, and the end +with the beginning and middle; on the contrary, they construct them with +such a multitude of members that it seems as though they meant to produce +a chimera or monster rather than a well-proportioned figure. And besides +all this they are harsh in their style, incredible in their achievements, +licentious in their amours, uncouth in their courtly speeches, prolix in +their battles, silly in their arguments, absurd in their travels, and, in +short, wanting in everything like intelligent art; for which reason they +deserve to be banished from the Christian commonwealth as a worthless +breed.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c47c" id="c47c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c47c.jpg (300K)" src="images/c47c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c47c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +The curate listened to him attentively and felt that he was a man of sound +understanding, and that there was good reason in what he said; so he told +him that, being of the same opinion himself, and bearing a grudge to books +of chivalry, he had burned all Don Quixote’s, which were many; and gave +him an account of the scrutiny he had made of them, and of those he had +condemned to the flames and those he had spared, with which the canon was +not a little amused, adding that though he had said so much in +condemnation of these books, still he found one good thing in them, and +that was the opportunity they afforded to a gifted intellect for +displaying itself; for they presented a wide and spacious field over which +the pen might range freely, describing shipwrecks, tempests, combats, +battles, portraying a valiant captain with all the qualifications +requisite to make one, showing him sagacious in foreseeing the wiles of +the enemy, eloquent in speech to encourage or restrain his soldiers, ripe +in counsel, rapid in resolve, as bold in biding his time as in pressing +the attack; now picturing some sad tragic incident, now some joyful and +unexpected event; here a beauteous lady, virtuous, wise, and modest; there +a Christian knight, brave and gentle; here a lawless, barbarous braggart; +there a courteous prince, gallant and gracious; setting forth the devotion +and loyalty of vassals, the greatness and generosity of nobles. “Or +again,” said he, “the author may show himself to be an astronomer, or a +skilled cosmographer, or musician, or one versed in affairs of state, and +sometimes he will have a chance of coming forward as a magician if he +likes. He can set forth the craftiness of Ulysses, the piety of Æneas, +the valour of Achilles, the misfortunes of Hector, the treachery of Sinon, +the friendship of Euryalus, the generosity of Alexander, the boldness of +Caesar, the clemency and truth of Trajan, the fidelity of Zopyrus, the +wisdom of Cato, and in short all the faculties that serve to make an +illustrious man perfect, now uniting them in one individual, again +distributing them among many; and if this be done with charm of style and +ingenious invention, aiming at the truth as much as possible, he will +assuredly weave a web of bright and varied threads that, when finished, +will display such perfection and beauty that it will attain the worthiest +object any writing can seek, which, as I said before, is to give +instruction and pleasure combined; for the unrestricted range of these +books enables the author to show his powers, epic, lyric, tragic, or +comic, and all the moods the sweet and winning arts of poesy and oratory +are capable of; for the epic may be written in prose just as well as in +verse.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c47e" id="c47e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c47e.jpg (67K)" src="images/c47e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c47e.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch48" id="ch48"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +IN WHICH THE CANON PURSUES THE SUBJECT OF THE BOOKS OF CHIVALRY, WITH +OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF HIS WIT +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c48a" id="c48a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c48a.jpg (80K)" src="images/c48a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c48a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“It is as you say, señor canon,” said the curate; “and for that reason +those who have hitherto written books of the sort deserve all the more +censure for writing without paying any attention to good taste or the +rules of art, by which they might guide themselves and become as famous in +prose as the two princes of Greek and Latin poetry are in verse.” +</p> +<p> +“I myself, at any rate,” said the canon, “was once tempted to write a book +of chivalry in which all the points I have mentioned were to be observed; +and if I must own the truth I have more than a hundred sheets written; and +to try if it came up to my own opinion of it, I showed them to persons who +were fond of this kind of reading, to learned and intelligent men as well +as to ignorant people who cared for nothing but the pleasure of listening +to nonsense, and from all I obtained flattering approval; nevertheless I +proceeded no farther with it, as well because it seemed to me an +occupation inconsistent with my profession, as because I perceived that +the fools are more numerous than the wise; and, though it is better to be +praised by the wise few than applauded by the foolish many, I have no mind +to submit myself to the stupid judgment of the silly public, to whom the +reading of such books falls for the most part. +</p> +<p> +“But what most of all made me hold my hand and even abandon all idea of +finishing it was an argument I put to myself taken from the plays that are +acted now-a-days, which was in this wise: if those that are now in vogue, +as well those that are pure invention as those founded on history, are, +all or most of them, downright nonsense and things that have neither head +nor tail, and yet the public listens to them with delight, and regards and +cries them up as perfection when they are so far from it; and if the +authors who write them, and the players who act them, say that this is +what they must be, for the public wants this and will have nothing else; +and that those that go by rule and work out a plot according to the laws +of art will only find some half-dozen intelligent people to understand +them, while all the rest remain blind to the merit of their composition; +and that for themselves it is better to get bread from the many than +praise from the few; then my book will fare the same way, after I have +burnt off my eyebrows in trying to observe the principles I have spoken +of, and I shall be ‘the tailor of the corner.’ And though I have sometimes +endeavoured to convince actors that they are mistaken in this notion they +have adopted, and that they would attract more people, and get more +credit, by producing plays in accordance with the rules of art, than by +absurd ones, they are so thoroughly wedded to their own opinion that no +argument or evidence can wean them from it. +</p> +<p> +“I remember saying one day to one of these obstinate fellows, ‘Tell me, do +you not recollect that a few years ago, there were three tragedies acted +in Spain, written by a famous poet of these kingdoms, which were such that +they filled all who heard them with admiration, delight, and interest, the +ignorant as well as the wise, the masses as well as the higher orders, and +brought in more money to the performers, these three alone, than thirty of +the best that have been since produced?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘No doubt,’ replied the actor in question, ‘you mean the “Isabella,” the +“Phyllis,” and the “Alexandra.”’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Those are the ones I mean,’ said I; ‘and see if they did not observe the +principles of art, and if, by observing them, they failed to show their +superiority and please all the world; so that the fault does not lie with +the public that insists upon nonsense, but with those who don’t know how +to produce something else. “The Ingratitude Revenged” was not nonsense, +nor was there any in “The Numantia,” nor any to be found in “The Merchant +Lover,” nor yet in “The Friendly Fair Foe,” nor in some others that have +been written by certain gifted poets, to their own fame and renown, and to +the profit of those that brought them out;’ some further remarks I added +to these, with which, I think, I left him rather dumbfoundered, but not so +satisfied or convinced that I could disabuse him of his error.” +</p> +<p> +“You have touched upon a subject, señor canon,” observed the curate here, +“that has awakened an old enmity I have against the plays in vogue at the +present day, quite as strong as that which I bear to the books of +chivalry; for while the drama, according to Tully, should be the mirror of +human life, the model of manners, and the image of the truth, those which +are presented now-a-days are mirrors of nonsense, models of folly, and +images of lewdness. For what greater nonsense can there be in connection +with what we are now discussing than for an infant to appear in swaddling +clothes in the first scene of the first act, and in the second a grown-up +bearded man? Or what greater absurdity can there be than putting before us +an old man as a swashbuckler, a young man as a poltroon, a lackey using +fine language, a page giving sage advice, a king plying as a porter, a +princess who is a kitchen-maid? And then what shall I say of their +attention to the time in which the action they represent may or can take +place, save that I have seen a play where the first act began in Europe, +the second in Asia, the third finished in Africa, and no doubt, had it +been in four acts, the fourth would have ended in America, and so it would +have been laid in all four quarters of the globe? And if truth to life is +the main thing the drama should keep in view, how is it possible for any +average understanding to be satisfied when the action is supposed to pass +in the time of King Pepin or Charlemagne, and the principal personage in +it they represent to be the Emperor Heraclius who entered Jerusalem with +the cross and won the Holy Sepulchre, like Godfrey of Bouillon, there +being years innumerable between the one and the other? or, if the play is +based on fiction and historical facts are introduced, or bits of what +occurred to different people and at different times mixed up with it, all, +not only without any semblance of probability, but with obvious errors +that from every point of view are inexcusable? And the worst of it is, +there are ignorant people who say that this is perfection, and that +anything beyond this is affected refinement. And then if we turn to sacred +dramas—what miracles they invent in them! What apocryphal, ill-devised +incidents, attributing to one saint the miracles of another! And even in +secular plays they venture to introduce miracles without any reason or +object except that they think some such miracle, or transformation as they +call it, will come in well to astonish stupid people and draw them to the +play. All this tends to the prejudice of the truth and the corruption of +history, nay more, to the reproach of the wits of Spain; for foreigners +who scrupulously observe the laws of the drama look upon us as barbarous +and ignorant, when they see the absurdity and nonsense of the plays we +produce. Nor will it be a sufficient excuse to say that the chief object +well-ordered governments have in view when they permit plays to be +performed in public is to entertain the people with some harmless +amusement occasionally, and keep it from those evil humours which idleness +is apt to engender; and that, as this may be attained by any sort of play, +good or bad, there is no need to lay down laws, or bind those who write or +act them to make them as they ought to be made, since, as I say, the +object sought for may be secured by any sort. To this I would reply that +the same end would be, beyond all comparison, better attained by means of +good plays than by those that are not so; for after listening to an +artistic and properly constructed play, the hearer will come away +enlivened by the jests, instructed by the serious parts, full of +admiration at the incidents, his wits sharpened by the arguments, warned +by the tricks, all the wiser for the examples, inflamed against vice, and +in love with virtue; for in all these ways a good play will stimulate the +mind of the hearer be he ever so boorish or dull; and of all +impossibilities the greatest is that a play endowed with all these +qualities will not entertain, satisfy, and please much more than one +wanting in them, like the greater number of those which are commonly acted +now-a-days. Nor are the poets who write them to be blamed for this; for +some there are among them who are perfectly well aware of their faults, +and know what they ought to do; but as plays have become a salable +commodity, they say, and with truth, that the actors will not buy them +unless they are after this fashion; and so the poet tries to adapt himself +to the requirements of the actor who is to pay him for his work. And that +this is the truth may be seen by the countless plays that a most fertile +wit of these kingdoms has written, with so much brilliancy, so much grace +and gaiety, such polished versification, such choice language, such +profound reflections, and in a word, so rich in eloquence and elevation of +style, that he has filled the world with his fame; and yet, in consequence +of his desire to suit the taste of the actors, they have not all, as some +of them have, come as near perfection as they ought. Others write plays +with such heedlessness that, after they have been acted, the actors have +to fly and abscond, afraid of being punished, as they often have been, for +having acted something offensive to some king or other, or insulting to +some noble family. All which evils, and many more that I say nothing of, +would be removed if there were some intelligent and sensible person at the +capital to examine all plays before they were acted, not only those +produced in the capital itself, but all that were intended to be acted in +Spain; without whose approval, seal, and signature, no local magistracy +should allow any play to be acted. In that case actors would take care to +send their plays to the capital, and could act them in safety, and those +who write them would be more careful and take more pains with their work, +standing in awe of having to submit it to the strict examination of one +who understood the matter; and so good plays would be produced and the +objects they aim at happily attained; as well the amusement of the people, +as the credit of the wits of Spain, the interest and safety of the actors, +and the saving of trouble in inflicting punishment on them. And if the +same or some other person were authorised to examine the newly written +books of chivalry, no doubt some would appear with all the perfections you +have described, enriching our language with the gracious and precious +treasure of eloquence, and driving the old books into obscurity before the +light of the new ones that would come out for the harmless entertainment, +not merely of the idle but of the very busiest; for the bow cannot be +always bent, nor can weak human nature exist without some lawful +amusement.” +</p> +<p> +The canon and the curate had proceeded thus far with their conversation, +when the barber, coming forward, joined them, and said to the curate, +“This is the spot, señor licentiate, that I said was a good one for fresh +and plentiful pasture for the oxen, while we take our noontide rest.” +</p> +<p> +“And so it seems,” returned the curate, and he told the canon what he +proposed to do, on which he too made up his mind to halt with them, +attracted by the aspect of the fair valley that lay before their eyes; and +to enjoy it as well as the conversation of the curate, to whom he had +begun to take a fancy, and also to learn more particulars about the doings +of Don Quixote, he desired some of his servants to go on to the inn, which +was not far distant, and fetch from it what eatables there might be for +the whole party, as he meant to rest for the afternoon where he was; to +which one of his servants replied that the sumpter mule, which by this +time ought to have reached the inn, carried provisions enough to make it +unnecessary to get anything from the inn except barley. +</p> +<p> +“In that case,” said the canon, “take all the beasts there, and bring the +sumpter mule back.” +</p> +<p> +While this was going on, Sancho, perceiving that he could speak to his +master without having the curate and the barber, of whom he had his +suspicions, present all the time, approached the cage in which Don Quixote +was placed, and said, “Señor, to ease my conscience I want to tell you the +state of the case as to your enchantment, and that is that these two here, +with their faces covered, are the curate of our village and the barber; +and I suspect they have hit upon this plan of carrying you off in this +fashion, out of pure envy because your worship surpasses them in doing +famous deeds; and if this be the truth it follows that you are not +enchanted, but hoodwinked and made a fool of. And to prove this I want to +ask you one thing; and if you answer me as I believe you will answer, you +will be able to lay your finger on the trick, and you will see that you +are not enchanted but gone wrong in your wits.” +</p> +<p> +“Ask what thou wilt, Sancho my son,” returned Don Quixote, “for I will +satisfy thee and answer all thou requirest. As to what thou sayest, that +these who accompany us yonder are the curate and the barber, our +neighbours and acquaintances, it is very possible that they may seem to be +those same persons; but that they are so in reality and in fact, believe +it not on any account; what thou art to believe and think is that, if they +look like them, as thou sayest, it must be that those who have enchanted +me have taken this shape and likeness; for it is easy for enchanters to +take any form they please, and they may have taken those of our friends in +order to make thee think as thou dost, and lead thee into a labyrinth of +fancies from which thou wilt find no escape though thou hadst the cord of +Theseus; and they may also have done it to make me uncertain in my mind, +and unable to conjecture whence this evil comes to me; for if on the one +hand thou dost tell me that the barber and curate of our village are here +in company with us, and on the other I find myself shut up in a cage, and +know in my heart that no power on earth that was not supernatural would +have been able to shut me in, what wouldst thou have me say or think, but +that my enchantment is of a sort that transcends all I have ever read of +in all the histories that deal with knights-errant that have been +enchanted? So thou mayest set thy mind at rest as to the idea that they +are what thou sayest, for they are as much so as I am a Turk. But touching +thy desire to ask me something, say on, and I will answer thee, though +thou shouldst ask questions from this till to-morrow morning.” +</p> +<p> +“May Our Lady be good to me!” said Sancho, lifting up his voice; +“and is it possible that your worship is so thick of skull and so short +of brains that you cannot see that what I say is the simple truth, and that +malice has more to do with your imprisonment and misfortune than enchantment? +But as it is so, I will prove plainly to you that you are not enchanted. Now +tell me, so may God deliver you from this affliction, and so may you find +yourself when you least expect it in the arms of my lady Dulcinea—” +</p> +<p> +“Leave off conjuring me,” said Don Quixote, “and ask what thou wouldst +know; I have already told thee I will answer with all possible precision.” +</p> +<p> +“That is what I want,” said Sancho; “and what I would know, +and have you tell me, without adding or leaving out anything, but telling the +whole truth as one expects it to be told, and as it is told, by all who profess +arms, as your worship professes them, under the title of +knights-errant—” +</p> +<p> +“I tell thee I will not lie in any particular,” said Don Quixote; “finish +thy question; for in truth thou weariest me with all these asseverations, +requirements, and precautions, Sancho.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I rely on the goodness and truth of my master,” said Sancho; “and +so, because it bears upon what we are talking about, I would ask, speaking +with all reverence, whether since your worship has been shut up and, as +you think, enchanted in this cage, you have felt any desire or inclination +to go anywhere, as the saying is?” +</p> +<p> +“I do not understand ‘going anywhere,’” said Don Quixote; “explain thyself +more clearly, Sancho, if thou wouldst have me give an answer to the +point.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it possible,” said Sancho, “that your worship does not understand +‘going anywhere’? Why, the schoolboys know that from the time they were +babes. Well then, you must know I mean have you had any desire to do what +cannot be avoided?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! now I understand thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “yes, often, and +even this minute; get me out of this strait, or all will not go right.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c48e" id="c48e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c48e.jpg (32K)" src="images/c48e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch49" id="ch49"></a>CHAPTER XLIX. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH TREATS OF THE SHREWD CONVERSATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS +MASTER DON QUIXOTE +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c49a" id="c49a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c49a.jpg (181K)" src="images/c49a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c49a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Aha, I have caught you,” said Sancho; “this is what in my heart and soul +I was longing to know. Come now, señor, can you deny what is commonly said +around us, when a person is out of humour, ‘I don’t know what ails +so-and-so, that he neither eats, nor drinks, nor sleeps, nor gives a +proper answer to any question; one would think he was enchanted’? From +which it is to be gathered that those who do not eat, or drink, or sleep, +or do any of the natural acts I am speaking of—that such persons are +enchanted; but not those that have the desire your worship has, and drink +when drink is given them, and eat when there is anything to eat, and +answer every question that is asked them.” +</p> +<p> +“What thou sayest is true, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote; “but I have +already told thee there are many sorts of enchantments, and it may be that +in the course of time they have been changed one for another, and that now +it may be the way with enchanted people to do all that I do, though they +did not do so before; so it is vain to argue or draw inferences against +the usage of the time. I know and feel that I am enchanted, and that is +enough to ease my conscience; for it would weigh heavily on it if I +thought that I was not enchanted, and that in a faint-hearted and cowardly +way I allowed myself to lie in this cage, defrauding multitudes of the +succour I might afford to those in need and distress, who at this very +moment may be in sore want of my aid and protection.” +</p> +<p> +“Still for all that,” replied Sancho, “I say that, for your greater and +fuller satisfaction, it would be well if your worship were to try to get +out of this prison (and I promise to do all in my power to help, and even +to take you out of it), and see if you could once more mount your good +Rocinante, who seems to be enchanted too, he is so melancholy and +dejected; and then we might try our chance in looking for adventures +again; and if we have no luck there will be time enough to go back to the +cage; in which, on the faith of a good and loyal squire, I promise to shut +myself up along with your worship, if so be you are so unfortunate, or I +so stupid, as not to be able to carry out my plan.” +</p> +<p> +“I am content to do as thou sayest, brother Sancho,” said Don Quixote, +“and when thou seest an opportunity for effecting my release I will obey +thee absolutely; but thou wilt see, Sancho, how mistaken thou art in thy +conception of my misfortune.” +</p> +<p> +The knight-errant and the ill-errant squire kept up their conversation +till they reached the place where the curate, the canon, and the barber, +who had already dismounted, were waiting for them. The carter at once +unyoked the oxen and left them to roam at large about the pleasant green +spot, the freshness of which seemed to invite, not enchanted people like +Don Quixote, but wide-awake, sensible folk like his squire, who begged the +curate to allow his master to leave the cage for a little; for if they did +not let him out, the prison might not be as clean as the propriety of such +a gentleman as his master required. The curate understood him, and said he +would very gladly comply with his request, only that he feared his master, +finding himself at liberty, would take to his old courses and make off +where nobody could ever find him again. +</p> +<p> +“I will answer for his not running away,” said Sancho. +</p> +<p> +“And I also,” said the canon, “especially if he gives me his word as a +knight not to leave us without our consent.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote, who was listening to all this, said, “I give it;—moreover +one who is enchanted as I am cannot do as he likes with himself; for he +who had enchanted him could prevent his moving from one place for three +ages, and if he attempted to escape would bring him back flying."—And +that being so, they might as well release him, particularly as it would be +to the advantage of all; for, if they did not let him out, he protested he +would be unable to avoid offending their nostrils unless they kept their +distance. +</p> +<p> +The canon took his hand, tied together as they both were, and on his word +and promise they unbound him, and rejoiced beyond measure he was to find +himself out of the cage. The first thing he did was to stretch himself all +over, and then he went to where Rocinante was standing and giving him a +couple of slaps on the haunches said, “I still trust in God and in his +blessed mother, O flower and mirror of steeds, that we shall soon see +ourselves, both of us, as we wish to be, thou with thy master on thy back, +and I mounted upon thee, following the calling for which God sent me into +the world.” And so saying, accompanied by Sancho, he withdrew to a retired +spot, from which he came back much relieved and more eager than ever to +put his squire’s scheme into execution. +</p> +<p> +The canon gazed at him, wondering at the extraordinary nature of his +madness, and that in all his remarks and replies he should show such +excellent sense, and only lose his stirrups, as has been already said, +when the subject of chivalry was broached. And so, moved by compassion, he +said to him, as they all sat on the green grass awaiting the arrival of +the provisions: +</p> +<p> +“Is it possible, gentle sir, that the nauseous and idle reading of books +of chivalry can have had such an effect on your worship as to upset your +reason so that you fancy yourself enchanted, and the like, all as far from +the truth as falsehood itself is? How can there be any human understanding +that can persuade itself there ever was all that infinity of Amadises in +the world, or all that multitude of famous knights, all those emperors of +Trebizond, all those Felixmartes of Hircania, all those palfreys, and +damsels-errant, and serpents, and monsters, and giants, and marvellous +adventures, and enchantments of every kind, and battles, and prodigious +encounters, splendid costumes, love-sick princesses, squires made counts, +droll dwarfs, love letters, billings and cooings, swashbuckler women, and, +in a word, all that nonsense the books of chivalry contain? For myself, I +can only say that when I read them, so long as I do not stop to think that +they are all lies and frivolity, they give me a certain amount of +pleasure; but when I come to consider what they are, I fling the very best +of them at the wall, and would fling it into the fire if there were one at +hand, as richly deserving such punishment as cheats and impostors out of +the range of ordinary toleration, and as founders of new sects and modes +of life, and teachers that lead the ignorant public to believe and accept +as truth all the folly they contain. And such is their audacity, they even +dare to unsettle the wits of gentlemen of birth and intelligence, as is +shown plainly by the way they have served your worship, when they have +brought you to such a pass that you have to be shut up in a cage and +carried on an ox-cart as one would carry a lion or a tiger from place to +place to make money by showing it. Come, Señor Don Quixote, have some +compassion for yourself, return to the bosom of common sense, and make use +of the liberal share of it that heaven has been pleased to bestow upon +you, employing your abundant gifts of mind in some other reading that may +serve to benefit your conscience and add to your honour. And if, still led +away by your natural bent, you desire to read books of achievements and of +chivalry, read the Book of Judges in the Holy Scriptures, for there you +will find grand reality, and deeds as true as they are heroic. Lusitania +had a Viriatus, Rome a Caesar, Carthage a Hannibal, Greece an Alexander, +Castile a Count Fernan Gonzalez, Valencia a Cid, Andalusia a Gonzalo +Fernandez, Estremadura a Diego Garcia de Paredes, Jerez a Garci Perez de +Vargas, Toledo a Garcilaso, Seville a Don Manuel de Leon, to read of whose +valiant deeds will entertain and instruct the loftiest minds and fill them +with delight and wonder. Here, Señor Don Quixote, will be reading worthy +of your sound understanding; from which you will rise learned in history, +in love with virtue, strengthened in goodness, improved in manners, brave +without rashness, prudent without cowardice; and all to the honour of God, +your own advantage and the glory of La Mancha, whence, I am informed, your +worship derives your birth.” +</p> +<p> +Don Quixote listened with the greatest attention to the canon’s words, and +when he found he had finished, after regarding him for some time, he +replied to him: +</p> +<p> +“It appears to me, gentle sir, that your worship’s discourse is intended +to persuade me that there never were any knights-errant in the world, and +that all the books of chivalry are false, lying, mischievous and useless +to the State, and that I have done wrong in reading them, and worse in +believing them, and still worse in imitating them, when I undertook to +follow the arduous calling of knight-errantry which they set forth; for +you deny that there ever were Amadises of Gaul or of Greece, or any other +of the knights of whom the books are full.” +</p> +<p> +“It is all exactly as you state it,” said the canon; to which Don Quixote +returned, “You also went on to say that books of this kind had done me +much harm, inasmuch as they had upset my senses, and shut me up in a cage, +and that it would be better for me to reform and change my studies, and +read other truer books which would afford more pleasure and instruction.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” said the canon. +</p> +<p> +“Well then,” returned Don Quixote, “to my mind it is you who are the one +that is out of his wits and enchanted, as you have ventured to utter such +blasphemies against a thing so universally acknowledged and accepted as +true that whoever denies it, as you do, deserves the same punishment which +you say you inflict on the books that irritate you when you read them. For +to try to persuade anybody that Amadis, and all the other +knights-adventurers with whom the books are filled, never existed, would +be like trying to persuade him that the sun does not yield light, or ice +cold, or earth nourishment. What wit in the world can persuade another +that the story of the Princess Floripes and Guy of Burgundy is not true, +or that of Fierabras and the bridge of Mantible, which happened in the +time of Charlemagne? For by all that is good it is as true as that it is +daylight now; and if it be a lie, it must be a lie too that there was a +Hector, or Achilles, or Trojan war, or Twelve Peers of France, or Arthur +of England, who still lives changed into a raven, and is unceasingly +looked for in his kingdom. One might just as well try to make out that the +history of Guarino Mezquino, or of the quest of the Holy Grail, is false, +or that the loves of Tristram and the Queen Yseult are apocryphal, as well +as those of Guinevere and Lancelot, when there are persons who can almost +remember having seen the Dame Quintanona, who was the best cupbearer in +Great Britain. And so true is this, that I recollect a grandmother of mine +on the father’s side, whenever she saw any dame in a venerable hood, used +to say to me, ‘Grandson, that one is like Dame Quintanona,’ from which I +conclude that she must have known her, or at least had managed to see some +portrait of her. Then who can deny that the story of Pierres and the fair +Magalona is true, when even to this day may be seen in the king’s armoury +the pin with which the valiant Pierres guided the wooden horse he rode +through the air, and it is a trifle bigger than the pole of a cart? And +alongside of the pin is Babieca’s saddle, and at Roncesvalles there is +Roland’s horn, as large as a large beam; whence we may infer that there +were Twelve Peers, and a Pierres, and a Cid, and other knights like them, +of the sort people commonly call adventurers. Or perhaps I shall be told, +too, that there was no such knight-errant as the valiant Lusitanian Juan +de Merlo, who went to Burgundy and in the city of Arras fought with the +famous lord of Charny, Mosen Pierres by name, and afterwards in the city +of Basle with Mosen Enrique de Remesten, coming out of both encounters +covered with fame and honour; or adventures and challenges achieved and +delivered, also in Burgundy, by the valiant Spaniards Pedro Barba and +Gutierre Quixada (of whose family I come in the direct male line), when +they vanquished the sons of the Count of San Polo. I shall be told, too, +that Don Fernando de Guevara did not go in quest of adventures to Germany, +where he engaged in combat with Micer George, a knight of the house of the +Duke of Austria. I shall be told that the jousts of Suero de Quinones, him +of the ‘Paso,’ and the emprise of Mosen Luis de Falces against the +Castilian knight, Don Gonzalo de Guzman, were mere mockeries; as well as +many other achievements of Christian knights of these and foreign realms, +which are so authentic and true, that, I repeat, he who denies them must +be totally wanting in reason and good sense.” +</p> +<p> +The canon was amazed to hear the medley of truth and fiction Don Quixote +uttered, and to see how well acquainted he was with everything relating or +belonging to the achievements of his knight-errantry; so he said in reply: +</p> +<p> +“I cannot deny, Señor Don Quixote, that there is some truth in what you +say, especially as regards the Spanish knights-errant; and I am willing to +grant too that the Twelve Peers of France existed, but I am not disposed +to believe that they did all the things that the Archbishop Turpin relates +of them. For the truth of the matter is they were knights chosen by the +kings of France, and called ‘Peers’ because they were all equal in worth, +rank and prowess (at least if they were not they ought to have been), and +it was a kind of religious order like those of Santiago and Calatrava in +the present day, in which it is assumed that those who take it are valiant +knights of distinction and good birth; and just as we say now a Knight of +St. John, or of Alcantara, they used to say then a Knight of the Twelve +Peers, because twelve equals were chosen for that military order. That +there was a Cid, as well as a Bernardo del Carpio, there can be no doubt; +but that they did the deeds people say they did, I hold to be very +doubtful. In that other matter of the pin of Count Pierres that you speak +of, and say is near Babieca’s saddle in the Armoury, I confess my sin; for +I am either so stupid or so short-sighted, that, though I have seen the +saddle, I have never been able to see the pin, in spite of it being as big +as your worship says it is.” +</p> +<p> +“For all that it is there, without any manner of doubt,” said Don Quixote; +“and more by token they say it is inclosed in a sheath of cowhide to keep +it from rusting.” +</p> +<p> +“All that may be,” replied the canon; “but, by the orders I have received, +I do not remember seeing it. However, granting it is there, that is no +reason why I am bound to believe the stories of all those Amadises and of +all that multitude of knights they tell us about, nor is it reasonable +that a man like your worship, so worthy, and with so many good qualities, +and endowed with such a good understanding, should allow himself to be +persuaded that such wild crazy things as are written in those absurd books +of chivalry are really true.” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c49e" id="c49e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c49e.jpg (22K)" src="images/c49e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch50" id="ch50"></a>CHAPTER L. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE SHREWD CONTROVERSY WHICH DON QUIXOTE AND THE CANON HELD, TOGETHER +WITH OTHER INCIDENTS +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c50a" id="c50a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c50a.jpg (160K)" src="images/c50a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c50a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“A good joke, that!” returned Don Quixote. “Books that have been printed +with the king’s licence, and with the approbation of those to whom they +have been submitted, and read with universal delight, and extolled by +great and small, rich and poor, learned and ignorant, gentle and simple, +in a word by people of every sort, of whatever rank or condition they may +be—that these should be lies! And above all when they carry such an +appearance of truth with them; for they tell us the father, mother, +country, kindred, age, place, and the achievements, step by step, and day +by day, performed by such a knight or knights! Hush, sir; utter not such +blasphemy; trust me I am advising you now to act as a sensible man should; +only read them, and you will see the pleasure you will derive from them. +For, come, tell me, can there be anything more delightful than to see, as +it were, here now displayed before us a vast lake of bubbling pitch with a +host of snakes and serpents and lizards, and ferocious and terrible +creatures of all sorts swimming about in it, while from the middle of the +lake there comes a plaintive voice saying: ‘Knight, whosoever thou art who +beholdest this dread lake, if thou wouldst win the prize that lies hidden +beneath these dusky waves, prove the valour of thy stout heart and cast +thyself into the midst of its dark burning waters, else thou shalt not be +worthy to see the mighty wonders contained in the seven castles of the +seven Fays that lie beneath this black expanse;’ and then the knight, +almost ere the awful voice has ceased, without stopping to consider, +without pausing to reflect upon the danger to which he is exposing +himself, without even relieving himself of the weight of his massive +armour, commending himself to God and to his lady, plunges into the midst +of the boiling lake, and when he little looks for it, or knows what his +fate is to be, he finds himself among flowery meadows, with which the +Elysian fields are not to be compared. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c50b" id="c50b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c50b.jpg (344K)" src="images/c50b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c50b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“The sky seems more transparent there, and the sun shines with a strange +brilliancy, and a delightful grove of green leafy trees presents itself to +the eyes and charms the sight with its verdure, while the ear is soothed +by the sweet untutored melody of the countless birds of gay plumage that +flit to and fro among the interlacing branches. Here he sees a brook whose +limpid waters, like liquid crystal, ripple over fine sands and white +pebbles that look like sifted gold and purest pearls. There he perceives a +cunningly wrought fountain of many-coloured jasper and polished marble; +here another of rustic fashion where the little mussel-shells and the +spiral white and yellow mansions of the snail disposed in studious +disorder, mingled with fragments of glittering crystal and mock emeralds, +make up a work of varied aspect, where art, imitating nature, seems to +have outdone it. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c50c" id="c50c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c50c.jpg (334K)" src="images/c50c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c50c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“Suddenly there is presented to his sight a strong castle or gorgeous +palace with walls of massy gold, turrets of diamond and gates of jacinth; +in short, so marvellous is its structure that though the materials of +which it is built are nothing less than diamonds, carbuncles, rubies, +pearls, gold, and emeralds, the workmanship is still more rare. And after +having seen all this, what can be more charming than to see how a bevy of +damsels comes forth from the gate of the castle in gay and gorgeous +attire, such that, were I to set myself now to depict it as the histories +describe it to us, I should never have done; and then how she who seems to +be the first among them all takes the bold knight who plunged into the +boiling lake by the hand, and without addressing a word to him leads him +into the rich palace or castle, and strips him as naked as when his mother +bore him, and bathes him in lukewarm water, and anoints him all over with +sweet-smelling unguents, and clothes him in a shirt of the softest sendal, +all scented and perfumed, while another damsel comes and throws over his +shoulders a mantle which is said to be worth at the very least a city, and +even more? How charming it is, then, when they tell us how, after all +this, they lead him to another chamber where he finds the tables set out +in such style that he is filled with amazement and wonder; to see how they +pour out water for his hands distilled from amber and sweet-scented +flowers; how they seat him on an ivory chair; to see how the damsels wait +on him all in profound silence; how they bring him such a variety of +dainties so temptingly prepared that the appetite is at a loss which to +select; to hear the music that resounds while he is at table, by whom or +whence produced he knows not. And then when the repast is over and the +tables removed, for the knight to recline in the chair, picking his teeth +perhaps as usual, and a damsel, much lovelier than any of the others, to +enter unexpectedly by the chamber door, and herself by his side, and begin +to tell him what the castle is, and how she is held enchanted there, and +other things that amaze the knight and astonish the readers who are +perusing his history. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c50d" id="c50d"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c50d.jpg (433K)" src="images/c50d.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c50d.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +“But I will not expatiate any further upon this, as it may be gathered +from it that whatever part of whatever history of a knight-errant one +reads, it will fill the reader, whoever he be, with delight and wonder; +and take my advice, sir, and, as I said before, read these books and you +will see how they will banish any melancholy you may feel and raise your +spirits should they be depressed. For myself I can say that since I have +been a knight-errant I have become valiant, polite, generous, well-bred, +magnanimous, courteous, dauntless, gentle, patient, and have learned to +bear hardships, imprisonments, and enchantments; and though it be such a +short time since I have seen myself shut up in a cage like a madman, I +hope by the might of my arm, if heaven aid me and fortune thwart me not, +to see myself king of some kingdom where I may be able to show the +gratitude and generosity that dwell in my heart; for by my faith, señor, +the poor man is incapacitated from showing the virtue of generosity to +anyone, though he may possess it in the highest degree; and gratitude that +consists of disposition only is a dead thing, just as faith without works +is dead. For this reason I should be glad were fortune soon to offer me +some opportunity of making myself an emperor, so as to show my heart in +doing good to my friends, particularly to this poor Sancho Panza, my +squire, who is the best fellow in the world; and I would gladly give him a +county I have promised him this ever so long, only that I am afraid he has +not the capacity to govern his realm.” +</p> +<p> +Sancho partly heard these last words of his master, and said to him, +“Strive hard you, Señor Don Quixote, to give me that county so often +promised by you and so long looked for by me, for I promise you there will +be no want of capacity in me to govern it; and even if there is, I have +heard say there are men in the world who farm seigniories, paying so much +a year, and they themselves taking charge of the government, while the +lord, with his legs stretched out, enjoys the revenue they pay him, +without troubling himself about anything else. That’s what I’ll do, and +not stand haggling over trifles, but wash my hands at once of the whole +business, and enjoy my rents like a duke, and let things go their own +way.” +</p> +<p> +“That, brother Sancho,” said the canon, “only holds good as far as the +enjoyment of the revenue goes; but the lord of the seigniory must attend +to the administration of justice, and here capacity and sound judgment +come in, and above all a firm determination to find out the truth; for if +this be wanting in the beginning, the middle and the end will always go +wrong; and God as commonly aids the honest intentions of the simple as he +frustrates the evil designs of the crafty.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand those philosophies,” returned Sancho Panza; “all I +know is I would I had the county as soon as I shall know how to govern it; +for I have as much soul as another, and as much body as anyone, and I +shall be as much king of my realm as any other of his; and being so I +should do as I liked, and doing as I liked I should please myself, and +pleasing myself I should be content, and when one is content he has +nothing more to desire, and when one has nothing more to desire there is +an end of it; so let the county come, and God be with you, and let us see +one another, as one blind man said to the other.” +</p> +<p> +“That is not bad philosophy thou art talking, Sancho,” said the canon; +“but for all that there is a good deal to be said on this matter of +counties.” +</p> +<p> +To which Don Quixote returned, “I know not what more there is to be said; +I only guide myself by the example set me by the great Amadis of Gaul, +when he made his squire count of the Insula Firme; and so, without any +scruples of conscience, I can make a count of Sancho Panza, for he is one +of the best squires that ever knight-errant had.” +</p> +<p> +The canon was astonished at the methodical nonsense (if nonsense be +capable of method) that Don Quixote uttered, at the way in which he had +described the adventure of the knight of the lake, at the impression that +the deliberate lies of the books he read had made upon him, and lastly he +marvelled at the simplicity of Sancho, who desired so eagerly to obtain +the county his master had promised him. +</p> +<p> +By this time the canon’s servants, who had gone to the inn to fetch the +sumpter mule, had returned, and making a carpet and the green grass of the +meadow serve as a table, they seated themselves in the shade of some trees +and made their repast there, that the carter might not be deprived of the +advantage of the spot, as has been already said. As they were eating they +suddenly heard a loud noise and the sound of a bell that seemed to come +from among some brambles and thick bushes that were close by, and the same +instant they observed a beautiful goat, spotted all over black, white, and +brown, spring out of the thicket with a goatherd after it, calling to it +and uttering the usual cries to make it stop or turn back to the fold. The +fugitive goat, scared and frightened, ran towards the company as if +seeking their protection and then stood still, and the goatherd coming up +seized it by the horns and began to talk to it as if it were possessed of +reason and understanding: “Ah wanderer, wanderer, Spotty, Spotty; how have +you gone limping all this time? What wolves have frightened you, my +daughter? Won’t you tell me what is the matter, my beauty? But what else +can it be except that you are a she, and cannot keep quiet? A plague on +your humours and the humours of those you take after! Come back, come +back, my darling; and if you will not be so happy, at any rate you will be +safe in the fold or with your companions; for if you who ought to keep and +lead them, go wandering astray, what will become of them?” +</p> +<p> +The goatherd’s talk amused all who heard it, but especially the canon, who +said to him, “As you live, brother, take it easy, and be not in such a +hurry to drive this goat back to the fold; for, being a female, as you +say, she will follow her natural instinct in spite of all you can do to +prevent it. Take this morsel and drink a sup, and that will soothe your +irritation, and in the meantime the goat will rest herself,” and so +saying, he handed him the loins of a cold rabbit on a fork. +</p> +<p> +The goatherd took it with thanks, and drank and calmed himself, and then +said, “I should be sorry if your worships were to take me for a simpleton +for having spoken so seriously as I did to this animal; but the truth is +there is a certain mystery in the words I used. I am a clown, but not so +much of one but that I know how to behave to men and to beasts.” +</p> +<p> +“That I can well believe,” said the curate, “for I know already by +experience that the woods breed men of learning, and shepherds’ huts harbour +philosophers.” +</p> +<p> +“At all events, señor,” returned the goatherd, “they shelter men of +experience; and that you may see the truth of this and grasp it, though I +may seem to put myself forward without being asked, I will, if it will not +tire you, gentlemen, and you will give me your attention for a little, +tell you a true story which will confirm this gentleman’s word (and he +pointed to the curate) as well as my own.” +</p> +<p> +To this Don Quixote replied, “Seeing that this affair has a certain colour +of chivalry about it, I for my part, brother, will hear you most gladly, +and so will all these gentlemen, from the high intelligence they possess +and their love of curious novelties that interest, charm, and entertain +the mind, as I feel quite sure your story will do. So begin, friend, for +we are all prepared to listen.” +</p> +<p> +“I draw my stakes,” said Sancho, “and will retreat with this pasty to the +brook there, where I mean to victual myself for three days; for I have +heard my lord, Don Quixote, say that a knight-errant’s squire should eat +until he can hold no more, whenever he has the chance, because it often +happens them to get by accident into a wood so thick that they cannot find +a way out of it for six days; and if the man is not well filled or his +alforjas well stored, there he may stay, as very often he does, turned +into a dried mummy.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou art in the right of it, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “go where thou +wilt and eat all thou canst, for I have had enough, and only want to give +my mind its refreshment, as I shall by listening to this good fellow’s +story.” +</p> +<p> +“It is what we shall all do,” said the canon; and then begged the goatherd +to begin the promised tale. +</p> +<p> +The goatherd gave the goat which he held by the horns a couple of slaps on +the back, saying, “Lie down here beside me, Spotty, for we have time +enough to return to our fold.” The goat seemed to understand him, for as +her master seated himself, she stretched herself quietly beside him and +looked up in his face to show him she was all attention to what he was +going to say, and then in these words he began his story. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c50e" id="c50e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c50e.jpg (27K)" src="images/c50e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch51" id="ch51"></a>CHAPTER LI. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +WHICH DEALS WITH WHAT THE GOATHERD TOLD THOSE WHO WERE CARRYING OFF DON +QUIXOTE +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c51a" id="c51a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c51a.jpg (115K)" src="images/c51a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c51a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +Three leagues from this valley there is a village which, though small, is +one of the richest in all this neighbourhood, and in it there lived a +farmer, a very worthy man, and so much respected that, although to be so +is the natural consequence of being rich, he was even more respected for +his virtue than for the wealth he had acquired. But what made him still +more fortunate, as he said himself, was having a daughter of such +exceeding beauty, rare intelligence, gracefulness, and virtue, that +everyone who knew her and beheld her marvelled at the extraordinary gifts +with which heaven and nature had endowed her. As a child she was +beautiful, she continued to grow in beauty, and at the age of sixteen she +was most lovely. The fame of her beauty began to spread abroad through all +the villages around—but why do I say the villages around, merely, +when it spread to distant cities, and even made its way into the halls of +royalty and reached the ears of people of every class, who came from all +sides to see her as if to see something rare and curious, or some +wonder-working image? +</p> +<p> +Her father watched over her and she watched over herself; for there are no +locks, or guards, or bolts that can protect a young girl better than her +own modesty. The wealth of the father and the beauty of the daughter led +many neighbours as well as strangers to seek her for a wife; but he, as +one might well be who had the disposal of so rich a jewel, was perplexed +and unable to make up his mind to which of her countless suitors he should +entrust her. I was one among the many who felt a desire so natural, and, +as her father knew who I was, and I was of the same town, of pure blood, +in the bloom of life, and very rich in possessions, I had great hopes of +success. There was another of the same place and qualifications who also +sought her, and this made her father’s choice hang in the balance, for he +felt that on either of us his daughter would be well bestowed; so to +escape from this state of perplexity he resolved to refer the matter to +Leandra (for that is the name of the rich damsel who has reduced me to +misery), reflecting that as we were both equal it would be best to leave +it to his dear daughter to choose according to her inclination—a +course that is worthy of imitation by all fathers who wish to settle their +children in life. I do not mean that they ought to leave them to make a +choice of what is contemptible and bad, but that they should place before +them what is good and then allow them to make a good choice as they +please. I do not know which Leandra chose; I only know her father put us +both off with the tender age of his daughter and vague words that neither +bound him nor dismissed us. My rival is called Anselmo and I myself +Eugenio—that you may know the names of the personages that figure in +this tragedy, the end of which is still in suspense, though it is plain to +see it must be disastrous. +</p> +<p> +About this time there arrived in our town one Vicente de la Roca, the son +of a poor peasant of the same town, the said Vicente having returned from +service as a soldier in Italy and divers other parts. A captain who +chanced to pass that way with his company had carried him off from our +village when he was a boy of about twelve years, and now twelve years +later the young man came back in a soldier’s uniform, arrayed in a +thousand colours, and all over glass trinkets and fine steel chains. +To-day he would appear in one gay dress, to-morrow in another; but all +flimsy and gaudy, of little substance and less worth. The peasant folk, +who are naturally malicious, and when they have nothing to do can be +malice itself, remarked all this, and took note of his finery and +jewellery, piece by piece, and discovered that he had three suits of +different colours, with garters and stockings to match; but he made so +many arrangements and combinations out of them, that if they had not +counted them, anyone would have sworn that he had made a display of more +than ten suits of clothes and twenty plumes. Do not look upon all this +that I am telling you about the clothes as uncalled for or spun out, for +they have a great deal to do with the story. He used to seat himself on a +bench under the great poplar in our plaza, and there he would keep us all +hanging open-mouthed on the stories he told us of his exploits. There was +no country on the face of the globe he had not seen, nor battle he had not +been engaged in; he had killed more Moors than there are in Morocco and +Tunis, and fought more single combats, according to his own account, than +Garcilaso, Diego Garcia de Paredes and a thousand others he named, and out +of all he had come victorious without losing a drop of blood. On the other +hand he showed marks of wounds, which, though they could not be made out, +he said were gunshot wounds received in divers encounters and actions. +Lastly, with monstrous impudence he used to say “you” to his equals and +even those who knew what he was, and declare that his arm was his father +and his deeds his pedigree, and that being a soldier he was as good as the +king himself. And to add to these swaggering ways he was a trifle of a +musician, and played the guitar with such a flourish that some said he +made it speak; nor did his accomplishments end here, for he was something +of a poet too, and on every trifle that happened in the town he made a +ballad a league long. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c51b" id="c51b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c51b.jpg (372K)" src="images/c51b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c51b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +This soldier, then, that I have described, this Vicente de la Roca, this +bravo, gallant, musician, poet, was often seen and watched by Leandra from +a window of her house which looked out on the plaza. The glitter of his +showy attire took her fancy, his ballads bewitched her (for he gave away +twenty copies of every one he made), the tales of his exploits which he +told about himself came to her ears; and in short, as the devil no doubt +had arranged it, she fell in love with him before the presumption of +making love to her had suggested itself to him; and as in love-affairs +none are more easily brought to an issue than those which have the +inclination of the lady for an ally, Leandra and Vicente came to an +understanding without any difficulty; and before any of her numerous +suitors had any suspicion of her design, she had already carried it into +effect, having left the house of her dearly beloved father (for mother she +had none), and disappeared from the village with the soldier, who came +more triumphantly out of this enterprise than out of any of the large +number he laid claim to. All the village and all who heard of it were +amazed at the affair; I was aghast, Anselmo thunderstruck, her father full +of grief, her relations indignant, the authorities all in a ferment, the +officers of the Brotherhood in arms. They scoured the roads, they searched +the woods and all quarters, and at the end of three days they found the +flighty Leandra in a mountain cave, stript to her shift, and robbed of all +the money and precious jewels she had carried away from home with her. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c51c" id="c51c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c51c.jpg (275K)" src="images/c51c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c51c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +They brought her back to her unhappy father, and questioned her as to her +misfortune, and she confessed without pressure that Vicente de la Roca had +deceived her, and under promise of marrying her had induced her to leave +her father’s house, as he meant to take her to the richest and most +delightful city in the whole world, which was Naples; and that she, +ill-advised and deluded, had believed him, and robbed her father, and +handed over all to him the night she disappeared; and that he had carried +her away to a rugged mountain and shut her up in the cave where they had +found her. She said, moreover, that the soldier, without robbing her of +her honour, had taken from her everything she had, and made off, leaving +her in the cave, a thing that still further surprised everybody. It was +not easy for us to credit the young man’s continence, but she asserted it +with such earnestness that it helped to console her distressed father, who +thought nothing of what had been taken since the jewel that once lost can +never be recovered had been left to his daughter. The same day that +Leandra made her appearance her father removed her from our sight and took +her away to shut her up in a convent in a town near this, in the hope that +time may wear away some of the disgrace she has incurred. Leandra’s youth +furnished an excuse for her fault, at least with those to whom it was of +no consequence whether she was good or bad; but those who knew her +shrewdness and intelligence did not attribute her misdemeanour to +ignorance but to wantonness and the natural disposition of women, which is +for the most part flighty and ill-regulated. +</p> +<p> +Leandra withdrawn from sight, Anselmo’s eyes grew blind, or at any rate +found nothing to look at that gave them any pleasure, and mine were in +darkness without a ray of light to direct them to anything enjoyable while +Leandra was away. Our melancholy grew greater, our patience grew less; we +cursed the soldier’s finery and railed at the carelessness of Leandra’s +father. At last Anselmo and I agreed to leave the village and come to this +valley; and, he feeding a great flock of sheep of his own, and I a large +herd of goats of mine, we pass our life among the trees, giving vent to +our sorrows, together singing the fair Leandra’s praises, or upbraiding +her, or else sighing alone, and to heaven pouring forth our complaints in +solitude. Following our example, many more of Leandra’s lovers have come +to these rude mountains and adopted our mode of life, and they are so +numerous that one would fancy the place had been turned into the pastoral +Arcadia, so full is it of shepherds and sheep-folds; nor is there a spot +in it where the name of the fair Leandra is not heard. Here one curses her +and calls her capricious, fickle, and immodest, there another condemns her +as frail and frivolous; this pardons and absolves her, that spurns and +reviles her; one extols her beauty, another assails her character, and in +short all abuse her, and all adore her, and to such a pitch has this +general infatuation gone that there are some who complain of her scorn +without ever having exchanged a word with her, and even some that bewail +and mourn the raging fever of jealousy, for which she never gave anyone +cause, for, as I have already said, her misconduct was known before her +passion. There is no nook among the rocks, no brookside, no shade beneath +the trees that is not haunted by some shepherd telling his woes to the +breezes; wherever there is an echo it repeats the name of Leandra; the +mountains ring with “Leandra,” “Leandra” murmur the brooks, and Leandra +keeps us all bewildered and bewitched, hoping without hope and fearing +without knowing what we fear. Of all this silly set the one that shows the +least and also the most sense is my rival Anselmo, for having so many +other things to complain of, he only complains of separation, and to the +accompaniment of a rebeck, which he plays admirably, he sings his +complaints in verses that show his ingenuity. I follow another, easier, +and to my mind wiser course, and that is to rail at the frivolity of +women, at their inconstancy, their double dealing, their broken promises, +their unkept pledges, and in short the want of reflection they show in +fixing their affections and inclinations. This, sirs, was the reason of +words and expressions I made use of to this goat when I came up just now; +for as she is a female I have a contempt for her, though she is the best +in all my fold. This is the story I promised to tell you, and if I have +been tedious in telling it, I will not be slow to serve you; my hut is +close by, and I have fresh milk and dainty cheese there, as well as a +variety of toothsome fruit, no less pleasing to the eye than to the +palate. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c51e" id="c51e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c51e.jpg (14K)" src="images/c51e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +“ <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +<a name="ch52" id="ch52"></a>CHAPTER LII. +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +OF THE QUARREL THAT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH THE GOATHERD, TOGETHER WITH THE +RARE ADVENTURE OF THE PENITENTS, WHICH WITH AN EXPENDITURE OF SWEAT HE +BROUGHT TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION +</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="c52a" id="c52a"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c52a.jpg (40K)" src="images/c52a.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c52a.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +The goatherd’s tale gave great satisfaction to all the hearers, and the +canon especially enjoyed it, for he had remarked with particular attention +the manner in which it had been told, which was as unlike the manner of a +clownish goatherd as it was like that of a polished city wit; and he +observed that the curate had been quite right in saying that the woods +bred men of learning. They all offered their services to Eugenio but he +who showed himself most liberal in this way was Don Quixote, who said to +him, “Most assuredly, brother goatherd, if I found myself in a position to +attempt any adventure, I would, this very instant, set out on your behalf, +and would rescue Leandra from that convent (where no doubt she is kept +against her will), in spite of the abbess and all who might try to prevent +me, and would place her in your hands to deal with her according to your +will and pleasure, observing, however, the laws of chivalry which lay down +that no violence of any kind is to be offered to any damsel. But I trust +in God our Lord that the might of one malignant enchanter may not prove so +great but that the power of another better disposed may prove superior to +it, and then I promise you my support and assistance, as I am bound to do +by my profession, which is none other than to give aid to the weak and +needy.” +</p> +<p> +The goatherd eyed him, and noticing Don Quixote’s sorry appearance and +looks, he was filled with wonder, and asked the barber, who was next him, +“Señor, who is this man who makes such a figure and talks in such a +strain?” +</p> +<p> +“Who should it be,” said the barber, “but the famous Don Quixote of La +Mancha, the undoer of injustice, the righter of wrongs, the protector of +damsels, the terror of giants, and the winner of battles?” +</p> +<p> +“That,” said the goatherd, “sounds like what one reads in the books of the +knights-errant, who did all that you say this man does; though it is my +belief that either you are joking, or else this gentleman has empty +lodgings in his head.” +</p> +<p> +“You are a great scoundrel,” said Don Quixote, “and it is you who are +empty and a fool. I am fuller than ever was the whoreson bitch that bore +you;” and passing from words to deeds, he caught up a loaf that was near +him and sent it full in the goatherd’s face, with such force that he +flattened his nose; but the goatherd, who did not understand jokes, and +found himself roughly handled in such good earnest, paying no respect to +carpet, tablecloth, or diners, sprang upon Don Quixote, and seizing him by +the throat with both hands would no doubt have throttled him, had not +Sancho Panza that instant come to the rescue, and grasping him by the +shoulders flung him down on the table, smashing plates, breaking glasses, +and upsetting and scattering everything on it. Don Quixote, finding +himself free, strove to get on top of the goatherd, who, with his face +covered with blood, and soundly kicked by Sancho, was on all fours feeling +about for one of the table-knives to take a bloody revenge with. The canon +and the curate, however, prevented him, but the barber so contrived it +that he got Don Quixote under him, and rained down upon him such a shower +of fisticuffs that the poor knight’s face streamed with blood as freely as +his own. The canon and the curate were bursting with laughter, the +officers were capering with delight, and both the one and the other hissed +them on as they do dogs that are worrying one another in a fight. Sancho +alone was frantic, for he could not free himself from the grasp of one of +the canon’s servants, who kept him from going to his master’s assistance. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c52b" id="c52b"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c52b.jpg (348K)" src="images/c52b.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c52b.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +At last, while they were all, with the exception of the two bruisers who +were mauling each other, in high glee and enjoyment, they heard a trumpet +sound a note so doleful that it made them all look in the direction whence +the sound seemed to come. But the one that was most excited by hearing it +was Don Quixote, who though sorely against his will he was under the +goatherd, and something more than pretty well pummelled, said to him, +“Brother devil (for it is impossible but that thou must be one since thou +hast had might and strength enough to overcome mine), I ask thee to agree +to a truce for but one hour for the solemn note of yonder trumpet that +falls on our ears seems to me to summon me to some new adventure.” The +goatherd, who was by this time tired of pummelling and being pummelled, +released him at once, and Don Quixote rising to his feet and turning his +eyes to the quarter where the sound had been heard, suddenly saw coming +down the slope of a hill several men clad in white like penitents. +</p> +<p> +The fact was that the clouds had that year withheld their moisture from +the earth, and in all the villages of the district they were organising +processions, rogations, and penances, imploring God to open the hands of +his mercy and send the rain; and to this end the people of a village that +was hard by were going in procession to a holy hermitage there was on one +side of that valley. Don Quixote when he saw the strange garb of the +penitents, without reflecting how often he had seen it before, took it +into his head that this was a case of adventure, and that it fell to him +alone as a knight-errant to engage in it; and he was all the more +confirmed in this notion, by the idea that an image draped in black they +had with them was some illustrious lady that these villains and +discourteous thieves were carrying off by force. As soon as this occurred +to him he ran with all speed to Rocinante who was grazing at large, and +taking the bridle and the buckler from the saddle-bow, he had him bridled +in an instant, and calling to Sancho for his sword he mounted Rocinante, +braced his buckler on his arm, and in a loud voice exclaimed to those who +stood by, “Now, noble company, ye shall see how important it is that there +should be knights in the world professing the order of knight-errantry; now, I +say, ye shall see, by the deliverance of that worthy lady who is borne +captive there, whether knights-errant deserve to be held in estimation,” +and so saying he brought his legs to bear on Rocinante—for he had no +spurs—and at a full canter (for in all this veracious history we +never read of Rocinante fairly galloping) set off to encounter the +penitents, though the curate, the canon, and the barber ran to prevent +him. But it was out of their power, nor did he even stop for the shouts of +Sancho calling after him, “Where are you going, Señor Don Quixote? What +devils have possessed you to set you on against our Catholic faith? Plague +take me! mind, that is a procession of penitents, and the lady they are +carrying on that stand there is the blessed image of the immaculate +Virgin. Take care what you are doing, señor, for this time it may be +safely said you don’t know what you are about.” Sancho laboured in vain, +for his master was so bent on coming to quarters with these sheeted +figures and releasing the lady in black that he did not hear a word; and +even had he heard, he would not have turned back if the king had ordered +him. He came up with the procession and reined in Rocinante, who was +already anxious enough to slacken speed a little, and in a hoarse, excited +voice he exclaimed, “You who hide your faces, perhaps because you are not +good subjects, pay attention and listen to what I am about to say to you.” +The first to halt were those who were carrying the image, and one of the +four ecclesiastics who were chanting the Litany, struck by the strange +figure of Don Quixote, the leanness of Rocinante, and the other ludicrous +peculiarities he observed, said in reply to him, “Brother, if you have +anything to say to us say it quickly, for these brethren are whipping +themselves, and we cannot stop, nor is it reasonable we should stop to +hear anything, unless indeed it is short enough to be said in two words.” +</p> +<p> +“I will say it in one,” replied Don Quixote, “and it is this; that at +once, this very instant, ye release that fair lady whose tears and sad +aspect show plainly that ye are carrying her off against her will, and +that ye have committed some scandalous outrage against her; and I, who was +born into the world to redress all such like wrongs, will not permit you +to advance another step until you have restored to her the liberty she +pines for and deserves.” +</p> +<p> +From these words all the hearers concluded that he must be a madman, and +began to laugh heartily, and their laughter acted like gunpowder on Don +Quixote’s fury, for drawing his sword without another word he made a rush +at the stand. One of those who supported it, leaving the burden to his +comrades, advanced to meet him, flourishing a forked stick that he had for +propping up the stand when resting, and with this he caught a mighty cut +Don Quixote made at him that severed it in two; but with the portion that +remained in his hand he dealt such a thwack on the shoulder of Don +Quixote’s sword arm (which the buckler could not protect against the +clownish assault) that poor Don Quixote came to the ground in a sad +plight. +</p> +<p> +Sancho Panza, who was coming on close behind puffing and blowing, seeing +him fall, cried out to his assailant not to strike him again, for he was a +poor enchanted knight, who had never harmed anyone all the days of his +life; but what checked the clown was, not Sancho’s shouting, but seeing +that Don Quixote did not stir hand or foot; and so, fancying he had killed +him, he hastily hitched up his tunic under his girdle and took to his +heels across the country like a deer. +</p> +<p> +By this time all Don Quixote’s companions had come up to where he lay; but +the processionists seeing them come running, and with them the officers of +the Brotherhood with their crossbows, apprehended mischief, and clustering +round the image, raised their hoods, and grasped their scourges, as the +priests did their tapers, and awaited the attack, resolved to defend +themselves and even to take the offensive against their assailants if they +could. Fortune, however, arranged the matter better than they expected, +for all Sancho did was to fling himself on his master’s body, raising over +him the most doleful and laughable lamentation that ever was heard, for he +believed he was dead. The curate was known to another curate who walked in +the procession, and their recognition of one another set at rest the +apprehensions of both parties; the first then told the other in two words +who Don Quixote was, and he and the whole troop of penitents went to see +if the poor gentleman was dead, and heard Sancho Panza saying, with tears +in his eyes, “Oh flower of chivalry, that with one blow of a stick hast +ended the course of thy well-spent life! Oh pride of thy race, honour and +glory of all La Mancha, nay, of all the world, that for want of thee will +be full of evil-doers, no longer in fear of punishment for their misdeeds! +Oh thou, generous above all the Alexanders, since for only eight months of +service thou hast given me the best island the sea girds or surrounds! +Humble with the proud, haughty with the humble, encounterer of dangers, +endurer of outrages, enamoured without reason, imitator of the good, +scourge of the wicked, enemy of the mean, in short, knight-errant, which +is all that can be said!” +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <a name="c52c" id="c52c"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c52c.jpg (325K)" src="images/c52c.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> +<p> +<a href="images/c52c.jpg" style="width:100%;" ><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg" /></a><br /> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +At the cries and moans of Sancho, Don Quixote came to himself, and the +first word he said was, “He who lives separated from you, sweetest +Dulcinea, has greater miseries to endure than these. Aid me, friend +Sancho, to mount the enchanted cart, for I am not in a condition to press +the saddle of Rocinante, as this shoulder is all knocked to pieces.” +</p> +<p> +“That I will do with all my heart, señor,” said Sancho; “and let us return +to our village with these gentlemen, who seek your good, and there we will +prepare for making another sally, which may turn out more profitable and +creditable to us.” +</p> +<p> +“Thou art right, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote; “It will be wise to let +the malign influence of the stars which now prevails pass off.” +</p> +<p> +The canon, the curate, and the barber told him he would act very wisely in +doing as he said; and so, highly amused at Sancho Panza’s simplicities, +they placed Don Quixote in the cart as before. The procession once more +formed itself in order and proceeded on its road; the goatherd took his +leave of the party; the officers of the Brotherhood declined to go any +farther, and the curate paid them what was due to them; the canon begged +the curate to let him know how Don Quixote did, whether he was cured of +his madness or still suffered from it, and then begged leave to continue +his journey; in short, they all separated and went their ways, leaving to +themselves the curate and the barber, Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, and the +good Rocinante, who regarded everything with as great resignation as his +master. The carter yoked his oxen and made Don Quixote comfortable on a +truss of hay, and at his usual deliberate pace took the road the curate +directed, and at the end of six days they reached Don Quixote’s village, +and entered it about the middle of the day, which it so happened was a +Sunday, and the people were all in the plaza, through which Don Quixote’s +cart passed. They all flocked to see what was in the cart, and when they +recognised their townsman they were filled with amazement, and a boy ran +off to bring the news to his housekeeper and his niece that their master +and uncle had come back all lean and yellow and stretched on a truss of +hay on an ox-cart. It was piteous to hear the cries the two good ladies +raised, how they beat their breasts and poured out fresh maledictions on +those accursed books of chivalry; all which was renewed when they saw Don +Quixote coming in at the gate. +</p> +<p> +At the news of Don Quixote’s arrival Sancho Panza’s wife came running, for +she by this time knew that her husband had gone away with him as his +squire, and on seeing Sancho, the first thing she asked him was if the ass +was well. Sancho replied that he was, better than his master was. +</p> +<p> +“Thanks be to God,” said she, “for being so good to me; but now tell me, +my friend, what have you made by your squirings? What gown have you +brought me back? What shoes for your children?” +</p> +<p> +“I bring nothing of that sort, wife,” said Sancho; “though I bring other +things of more consequence and value.” +</p> +<p> +“I am very glad of that,” returned his wife; “show me these things of more +value and consequence, my friend; for I want to see them to cheer my heart +that has been so sad and heavy all these ages that you have been away.” +</p> +<p> +“I will show them to you at home, wife,” said Sancho; “be content for the +present; for if it please God that we should again go on our travels in +search of adventures, you will soon see me a count, or governor of an +island, and that not one of those everyday ones, but the best that is to +be had.” +</p> +<p> +“Heaven grant it, husband,” said she, “for indeed we have need of it. But +tell me, what’s this about islands, for I don’t understand it?” +</p> +<p> +“Honey is not for the mouth of the ass,” returned Sancho; “all in good +time thou shalt see, wife—nay, thou wilt be surprised to hear +thyself called ‘your ladyship’ by all thy vassals.” +</p> +<p> +“What are you talking about, Sancho, with your ladyships, islands, and +vassals?” returned Teresa Panza—for so Sancho’s wife was called, +though they were not relations, for in La Mancha it is customary for wives +to take their husbands’ surnames. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be in such a hurry to know all this, Teresa,” said Sancho; “it is +enough that I am telling you the truth, so shut your mouth. But I may tell +you this much by the way, that there is nothing in the world more +delightful than to be a person of consideration, squire to a +knight-errant, and a seeker of adventures. To be sure most of those one +finds do not end as pleasantly as one could wish, for out of a hundred, +ninety-nine will turn out cross and contrary. I know it by experience, for +out of some I came blanketed, and out of others belaboured. Still, for all +that, it is a fine thing to be on the look-out for what may happen, +crossing mountains, searching woods, climbing rocks, visiting castles, +putting up at inns, all at free quarters, and devil take the maravedi to +pay.” +</p> +<p> +While this conversation passed between Sancho Panza and his wife, Don +Quixote’s housekeeper and niece took him in and undressed him and laid him +in his old bed. He eyed them askance, and could not make out where he was. +The curate charged his niece to be very careful to make her uncle +comfortable and to keep a watch over him lest he should make his escape +from them again, telling her what they had been obliged to do to bring him +home. On this the pair once more lifted up their voices and renewed their +maledictions upon the books of chivalry, and implored heaven to plunge the +authors of such lies and nonsense into the midst of the bottomless pit. +They were, in short, kept in anxiety and dread lest their uncle and master +should give them the slip the moment he found himself somewhat better, and +as they feared so it fell out. +</p> +<p> +But the author of this history, though he has devoted research and +industry to the discovery of the deeds achieved by Don Quixote in his +third sally, has been unable to obtain any information respecting them, at +any rate derived from authentic documents; tradition has merely preserved +in the memory of La Mancha the fact that Don Quixote, the third time he +sallied forth from his home, betook himself to Saragossa, where he was +present at some famous jousts which came off in that city, and that he had +adventures there worthy of his valour and high intelligence. Of his end +and death he could learn no particulars, nor would he have ascertained it +or known of it, if good fortune had not produced an old physician for him +who had in his possession a leaden box, which, according to his account, +had been discovered among the crumbling foundations of an ancient +hermitage that was being rebuilt; in which box were found certain +parchment manuscripts in Gothic character, but in Castilian verse, +containing many of his achievements, and setting forth the beauty of +Dulcinea, the form of Rocinante, the fidelity of Sancho Panza, and the +burial of Don Quixote himself, together with sundry epitaphs and eulogies +on his life and character; but all that could be read and deciphered were +those which the trustworthy author of this new and unparalleled history +here presents. And the said author asks of those that shall read it +nothing in return for the vast toil which it has cost him in examining and +searching the Manchegan archives in order to bring it to light, save that +they give him the same credit that people of sense give to the books of +chivalry that pervade the world and are so popular; for with this he will +consider himself amply paid and fully satisfied, and will be encouraged to +seek out and produce other histories, if not as truthful, at least equal +in invention and not less entertaining. The first words written on the +parchment found in the leaden box were these: +</p> +<p> +THE ACADEMICIANS OF<br /> ARGAMASILLA, A VILLAGE OF<br /> LA MANCHA,<br /> ON +THE LIFE AND DEATH<br /> OF DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA,<br /> HOC SCRIPSERUNT<br /> +MONICONGO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,<br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + +ON THE TOMB OF DON QUIXOTE + + +EPITAPH + +The scatterbrain that gave La Mancha more +Rich spoils than Jason’s; who a point so keen +Had to his wit, and happier far had been +If his wit’s weathercock a blunter bore; +The arm renowned far as Gaeta’s shore, +Cathay, and all the lands that lie between; +The muse discreet and terrible in mien +As ever wrote on brass in days of yore; +He who surpassed the Amadises all, +And who as naught the Galaors accounted, +Supported by his love and gallantry: +Who made the Belianises sing small, +And sought renown on Rocinante mounted; +Here, underneath this cold stone, doth he lie. + + + +PANIAGUADO, +ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, +IN LAUDEM DULCINEAE DEL TOBOSO + +SONNET + +She, whose full features may be here descried, +High-bosomed, with a bearing of disdain, +Is Dulcinea, she for whom in vain +The great Don Quixote of La Mancha sighed. +For her, Toboso’s queen, from side to side +He traversed the grim sierra, the champaign +Of Aranjuez, and Montiel’s famous plain: +On Rocinante oft a weary ride. +Malignant planets, cruel destiny, +Pursued them both, the fair Manchegan dame, +And the unconquered star of chivalry. +Nor youth nor beauty saved her from the claim +Of death; he paid love’s bitter penalty, +And left the marble to preserve his name. + + + +CAPRICHOSO, A MOST ACUTE ACADEMICIAN +OF ARGAMASILLA, IN PRAISE OF ROCINANTE, +STEED OF DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA + +SONNET + +On that proud throne of diamantine sheen, +Which the blood-reeking feet of Mars degrade, +The mad Manchegan’s banner now hath been +By him in all its bravery displayed. +There hath he hung his arms and trenchant blade +Wherewith, achieving deeds till now unseen, +He slays, lays low, cleaves, hews; but art hath made +A novel style for our new paladin. +If Amadis be the proud boast of Gaul, +If by his progeny the fame of Greece +Through all the regions of the earth be spread, +Great Quixote crowned in grim Bellona’s hall +To-day exalts La Mancha over these, +And above Greece or Gaul she holds her head. +Nor ends his glory here, for his good steed +Doth Brillador and Bayard far exceed; +As mettled steeds compared with Rocinante, +The reputation they have won is scanty. + + + + +BURLADOR, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, +ON SANCHO PANZA + +SONNET + +The worthy Sancho Panza here you see; +A great soul once was in that body small, +Nor was there squire upon this earthly ball +So plain and simple, or of guile so free. +Within an ace of being Count was he, +And would have been but for the spite and gall +Of this vile age, mean and illiberal, +That cannot even let a donkey be. +For mounted on an ass (excuse the word), +By Rocinante’s side this gentle squire +Was wont his wandering master to attend. +Delusive hopes that lure the common herd +With promises of ease, the heart’s desire, +In shadows, dreams, and smoke ye always end. + + + + +CACHIDIABLO, +ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, +ON THE TOMB OF DON QUIXOTE +EPITAPH + +The knight lies here below, +Ill-errant and bruised sore, +Whom Rocinante bore +In his wanderings to and fro. +By the side of the knight is laid +Stolid man Sancho too, +Than whom a squire more true +Was not in the esquire trade. + + + + +TIQUITOC, +ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA, +ON THE TOMB OF DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO + +EPITAPH +Here Dulcinea lies. +Plump was she and robust: +Now she is ashes and dust: +The end of all flesh that dies. +A lady of high degree, +With the port of a lofty dame, +And the great Don Quixote’s flame, +And the pride of her village was she. +</pre> +<p> +These were all the verses that could be deciphered; the rest, the writing +being worm-eaten, were handed over to one of the Academicians to make out +their meaning conjecturally. We have been informed that at the cost of +many sleepless nights and much toil he has succeeded, and that he means to +publish them in hopes of Don Quixote’s third sally. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Forse altro cantera con miglior plettro.”</i> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +<a name="c52e" id="c52e"></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img alt="c52e.jpg (54K)" src="images/c52e.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DON QUIXOTE, VOLUME I. ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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