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diff --git a/old/orig5921-h/p5.htm b/old/orig5921-h/p5.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..23a7d25 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/orig5921-h/p5.htm @@ -0,0 +1,807 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>THE HISTORY OF DON QUIXOTE, By Cervantes, Vol.I., Part 5.</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {background:#faebd7; margin:10%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; text-align: center; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; } + .figleft {float: left;} + .figright {float: right;} + .toc { margin-left: 15%; margin-bottom: 0em;} + CENTER { padding: 10px;} + PRE { font-family: Times; font-size: 97%; margin-left: 15%;} + // --> +</style> + + +</head> +<body> + +<center> +<table summary="" cellPadding=4 border=3> +<tr><td> + <a href="p4.htm">Previous Part</a> +</td><td> + <a href="5921-h.htm">Main Index</a> +</td><td> + <a href="p6.htm">Next Part</a> + </td></tr> +</table> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<center> +<h1>DON QUIXOTE</h1> +<br> +<h2>by Miguel de Cervantes</h2> +<br> +<h3>Translated by John Ormsby</h3> +</center> + +<br><br> + +<center><h3> +Volume I., Part 5. +<br><br> +Chapters 14-15 +</h3></center> + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="bookcover.jpg (230K)" src="images/bookcover.jpg" height="842" width="650"> +</center> +<a href="images/bookcover.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg"> +</a> +<br><br><br><br> + +<br><br><br><br> +<center> +<img alt="spine.jpg (152K)" src="images/spine.jpg" height="842" width="650"> +</center> +<a href="images/spine.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg"> +</a> +<br><br><br><br> + +<h3>Ebook Editor's Note</h3> +<blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><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 "Enlarge" 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></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<br><br><br><br> +<center> +<img alt="p003.jpg (307K)" src="images/p003.jpg" height="813" width="650"> +</center> +<a href="images/p003.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg"> +</a> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<center><h2>CONTENTS</h2></center> + +<pre> + +<a href="#ch14">CHAPTER XIV</a> +WHEREIN ARE INSERTED THE DESPAIRING VERSES OF THE DEAD +SHEPHERD, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS NOT LOOKED FOR + +<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 + + +</pre> + +<br><br><br><br> + + + + + +<br><br> +<center><h2><a name="ch14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2></center> +<br> +<center><h3>WHEREIN ARE INSERTED THE DESPAIRING VERSES OF THE DEAD SHEPHERD, +TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS NOT LOOKED FOR +</h3></center> +<br> + +<br> +<br><br><br> +<center><a name="c14a"></a><img alt="c14a.jpg (172K)" src="images/c14a.jpg" height="441" width="650"> +</center> +<a href="images/c14a.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg"></a> +<br><br><br><br> + +<pre> + 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, +"Senor, 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, Ambrosia 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 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> +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> + + +<br> +<br><br><br> +<center><a name="c14e"></a><img alt="c14e.jpg (31K)" src="images/c14e.jpg" height="503" width="529"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + + +<br><br><br><br> +<center><h2><a name="ch15"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2></center> +<br> +<center><h3>IN WHICH IS RELATED THE UNFORTUNATE ADVENTURE THAT DON QUIXOTE +FELL IN WITH WHEN HE FELL OUT WITH CERTAIN HEARTLESS YANGUESANS +</h3></center> +<br> +<br> +<center><a name="c15a"></a><img alt="c15a.jpg (81K)" src="images/c15a.jpg" height="202" width="650"> +</center> +<a href="images/c15a.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg"></a> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The sage Cide 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> + +<br> +<br><br><br> +<center><a name="c15b"></a><img alt="c15b.jpg (376K)" src="images/c15b.jpg" height="822" width="650"> +</center> +<a href="images/c15b.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg"></a> +<br><br><br><br> + +<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> + +<br> +<br><br><br> +<center><a name="c15c"></a><img alt="c15c.jpg (362K)" src="images/c15c.jpg" height="841" width="650"> +</center> +<a href="images/c15c.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg"></a> +<br><br><br><br> + +<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, "Senor Don +Quixote, ah, Senor 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 at 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, "Senor, 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, "Senor, 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> + +<br> +<br><br><br> +<center><a name="c15d"></a><img alt="c15d.jpg (329K)" src="images/c15d.jpg" height="510" width="650"> +</center> +<a href="images/c15d.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Full Size" src="images/enlarge.jpg"></a> +<br><br><br><br> + +<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> + +<br> +<br><br><br> +<center><a name="c15e"></a><img alt="c15e.jpg (31K)" src="images/c15e.jpg" height="520" width="329"> +</center> + + +<br> +<br> + + +<center> +<table summary="" cellPadding=4 border=3> +<tr><td> + <a href="p4.htm">Previous Part</a> +</td><td> + <a href="5921-h.htm">Main Index</a> +</td><td> + <a href="p6.htm">Next Part</a> + </td></tr> +</table> +</center> +<br><br> + +</body> +</html> + |