The History of Don Quixote, Vol. II., Part 28 - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
DON QUIXOTE
Volume II.
Part 28.
by Miguel de Cervantes
Translated by John Ormsby
CHAPTER XXIX.
OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARK
By stages as already described or left undescribed, two days after
quitting the grove Don Quixote and Sancho reached the river Ebro, and the
sight of it was a great delight to Don Quixote as he contemplated and
gazed upon the charms of its banks, the clearness of its stream, the
gentleness of its current and the abundance of its crystal waters; and
the pleasant view revived a thousand tender thoughts in his mind. Above
all, he dwelt upon what he had seen in the cave of Montesinos; for though
Master Pedro's ape had told him that of those things part was true, part
false, he clung more to their truth than to their falsehood, the very
reverse of Sancho, who held them all to be downright lies.
As they were thus proceeding, then, they discovered a small boat, without
oars or any other gear, that lay at the water's edge tied to the stem of
a tree growing on the bank. Don Quixote looked all round, and seeing
nobody, at once, without more ado, dismounted from Rocinante and bade
Sancho get down from Dapple and tie both beasts securely to the trunk of
a poplar or willow that stood there. Sancho asked him the reason of this
sudden dismounting and tying. Don Quixote made answer, "Thou must know,
Sancho, that this bark is plainly, and without the possibility of any
alternative, calling and inviting me to enter it, and in it go to give
aid to some knight or other person of distinction in need of it, who is
no doubt in some sore strait; for this is the way of the books of
chivalry and of the enchanters who figure and speak in them. When a
knight is involved in some difficulty from which he cannot be delivered
save by the hand of another knight, though they may be at a distance of
two or three thousand leagues or more one from the other, they either
take him up on a cloud, or they provide a bark for him to get into, and
in less than the twinkling of an eye they carry him where they will and
where his help is required; and so, Sancho, this bark is placed here for
the same purpose; this is as true as that it is now day, and ere this one
passes tie Dapple and Rocinante together, and then in God's hand be it to
guide us; for I would not hold back from embarking, though barefooted
friars were to beg me."
"As that's the case," said Sancho, "and your worship chooses to give in
to these--I don't know if I may call them absurdities--at every turn,
there's nothing for it but to obey and bow the head, bearing in mind the
proverb, 'Do as thy master bids thee, and sit down to table with him;'
but for all that, for the sake of easing my conscience, I warn your
worship that it is my opinion this bark is no enchanted one, but belongs
to some of the fishermen of the river, for they catch the best shad in
the world here."
As Sancho said this, he tied the beasts, leaving them to the care and
protection of the enchanters with sorrow enough in his heart. Don Quixote
bade him not be uneasy about deserting the animals, "for he who would
carry themselves over such longinquous roads and regions would take care
to feed them."
"I don't understand that logiquous," said Sancho, "nor have I ever heard
the word all the days of my life."
"Longinquous," replied Don Quixote, "means far off; but it is no wonder
thou dost not understand it, for thou art not bound to know Latin, like
some who pretend to know it and don't."
"Now they are tied," said Sancho; "what are we to do next?"
"What?" said Don Quixote, "cross ourselves and weigh anchor; I mean,
embark and cut the moorings by which the bark is held;" and the bark
began to drift away slowly from the bank. But when Sancho saw himself
somewhere about two yards out in the river, he began to tremble and give
himself up for lost; but nothing distressed him more than hearing Dapple
bray and seeing Rocinante struggling to get loose, and said he to his
master, "Dapple is braying in grief at our leaving him, and Rocinante is
trying to escape and plunge in after us. O dear friends, peace be with
you, and may this madness that is taking us away from you, turned into
sober sense, bring us back to you." And with this he fell weeping so
bitterly, that Don Quixote said to him, sharply and angrily, "What art
thou afraid of, cowardly creature? What art thou weeping at, heart of
butter-paste? Who pursues or molests thee, thou soul of a tame mouse?
What dost thou want, unsatisfied in the very heart of abundance? Art
thou, perchance, tramping barefoot over the Riphaean mountains, instead
of being seated on a bench like an archduke on the tranquil stream of
this pleasant river, from which in a short space we shall come out upon
the broad sea? But we must have already emerged and gone seven hundred or
eight hundred leagues; and if I had here an astrolabe to take the
altitude of the pole, I could tell thee how many we have travelled,
though either I know little, or we have already crossed or shall shortly
cross the equinoctial line which parts the two opposite poles midway."
"And when we come to that line your worship speaks of," said Sancho, "how
far shall we have gone?"
"Very far," said Don Quixote, "for of the three hundred and sixty degrees
that this terraqueous globe contains, as computed by Ptolemy, the
greatest cosmographer known, we shall have travelled one-half when we
come to the line I spoke of."
"By God," said Sancho, "your worship gives me a nice authority for what
you say, putrid Dolly something transmogrified, or whatever it is."
Don Quixote laughed at the interpretation Sancho put upon "computed," and
the name of the cosmographer Ptolemy, and said he, "Thou must know,
Sancho, that with the Spaniards and those who embark at Cadiz for the
East Indies, one of the signs they have to show them when they have
passed the equinoctial line I told thee of, is, that the lice die upon
everybody on board the ship, and not a single one is left, or to be found
in the whole vessel if they gave its weight in gold for it; so, Sancho,
thou mayest as well pass thy hand down thy thigh, and if thou comest upon
anything alive we shall be no longer in doubt; if not, then we have
crossed."
"I don't believe a bit of it," said Sancho; "still, I'll do as your
worship bids me; though I don't know what need there is for trying these
experiments, for I can see with my own eyes that we have not moved five
yards away from the bank, or shifted two yards from where the animals
stand, for there are Rocinante and Dapple in the very same place where we
left them; and watching a point, as I do now, I swear by all that's good,
we are not stirring or moving at the pace of an ant."
"Try the test I told thee of, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and don't mind
any other, for thou knowest nothing about colures, lines, parallels,
zodiacs, ecliptics, poles, solstices, equinoxes, planets, signs,
bearings, the measures of which the celestial and terrestrial spheres are
composed; if thou wert acquainted with all these things, or any portion
of them, thou wouldst see clearly how many parallels we have cut, what
signs we have seen, and what constellations we have left behind and are
now leaving behind. But again I tell thee, feel and hunt, for I am
certain thou art cleaner than a sheet of smooth white paper."
Sancho felt, and passing his hand gently and carefully down to the hollow
of his left knee, he looked up at his master and said, "Either the test
is a false one, or we have not come to where your worship says, nor
within many leagues of it."
"Why, how so?" asked Don Quixote; "hast thou come upon aught?"
"Ay, and aughts," replied Sancho; and shaking his fingers he washed his
whole hand in the river along which the boat was quietly gliding in
midstream, not moved by any occult intelligence or invisible enchanter,
but simply by the current, just there smooth and gentle.
They now came in sight of some large water mills that stood in the middle
of the river, and the instant Don Quixote saw them he cried out, "Seest
thou there, my friend? there stands the castle or fortress, where there
is, no doubt, some knight in durance, or ill-used queen, or infanta, or
princess, in whose aid I am brought hither."
"What the devil city, fortress, or castle is your worship talking about,
senor?" said Sancho; "don't you see that those are mills that stand in
the river to grind corn?"
"Hold thy peace, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "though they look like mills
they are not so; I have already told thee that enchantments transform
things and change their proper shapes; I do not mean to say they really
change them from one form into another, but that it seems as though they
did, as experience proved in the transformation of Dulcinea, sole refuge
of my hopes."
By this time, the boat, having reached the middle of the stream, began to
move less slowly than hitherto. The millers belonging to the mills, when
they saw the boat coming down the river, and on the point of being sucked
in by the draught of the wheels, ran out in haste, several of them, with
long poles to stop it, and being all mealy, with faces and garments
covered with flour, they presented a sinister appearance. They raised
loud shouts, crying, "Devils of men, where are you going to? Are you mad?
Do you want to drown yourselves, or dash yourselves to pieces among these
wheels?"
"Did I not tell thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote at this, "that we had
reached the place where I am to show what the might of my arm can do? See
what ruffians and villains come out against me; see what monsters oppose
me; see what hideous countenances come to frighten us! You shall soon
see, scoundrels!" And then standing up in the boat he began in a loud
voice to hurl threats at the millers, exclaiming, "Ill-conditioned and
worse-counselled rabble, restore to liberty and freedom the person ye
hold in durance in this your fortress or prison, high or low or of
whatever rank or quality he be, for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha,
otherwise called the Knight of the Lions, for whom, by the disposition of
heaven above, it is reserved to give a happy issue to this adventure;"
and so saying he drew his sword and began making passes in the air at the
millers, who, hearing but not understanding all this nonsense, strove to
stop the boat, which was now getting into the rushing channel of the
wheels. Sancho fell upon his knees devoutly appealing to heaven to
deliver him from such imminent peril; which it did by the activity and
quickness of the millers, who, pushing against the boat with their poles,
stopped it, not, however, without upsetting and throwing Don Quixote and
Sancho into the water; and lucky it was for Don Quixote that he could
swim like a goose, though the weight of his armour carried him twice to
the bottom; and had it not been for the millers, who plunged in and
hoisted them both out, it would have been Troy town with the pair of
them. As soon as, more drenched than thirsty, they were landed, Sancho
went down on his knees and with clasped hands and eyes raised to heaven,
prayed a long and fervent prayer to God to deliver him evermore from the
rash projects and attempts of his master. The fishermen, the owners of
the boat, which the mill-wheels had knocked to pieces, now came up, and
seeing it smashed they proceeded to strip Sancho and to demand payment
for it from Don Quixote; but he with great calmness, just as if nothing
had happened him, told the millers and fishermen that he would pay for
the bark most cheerfully, on condition that they delivered up to him,
free and unhurt, the person or persons that were in durance in that
castle of theirs.
"What persons or what castle art thou talking of, madman? Art thou for
carrying off the people who come to grind corn in these mills?"
"That's enough," said Don Quixote to himself, "it would be preaching in
the desert to attempt by entreaties to induce this rabble to do any
virtuous action. In this adventure two mighty enchanters must have
encountered one another, and one frustrates what the other attempts; one
provided the bark for me, and the other upset me; God help us, this world
is all machinations and schemes at cross purposes one with the other. I
can do no more." And then turning towards the mills he said aloud,
"Friends, whoe'er ye be that are immured in that prison, forgive me that,
to my misfortune and yours, I cannot deliver you from your misery; this
adventure is doubtless reserved and destined for some other knight."
So saying he settled with the fishermen, and paid fifty reals for the
boat, which Sancho handed to them very much against the grain, saying,
"With a couple more bark businesses like this we shall have sunk our
whole capital."
The fishermen and the millers stood staring in amazement at the two
figures, so very different to all appearance from ordinary men, and were
wholly unable to make out the drift of the observations and questions Don
Quixote addressed to them; and coming to the conclusion that they were
madmen, they left them and betook themselves, the millers to their mills,
and the fishermen to their huts. Don Quixote and Sancho returned to their
beasts, and to their life of beasts, and so ended the adventure of the
enchanted bark.
CHAPTER XXX.
OF DON QUIXOTE'S ADVENTURE WITH A FAIR HUNTRESS
They reached their beasts in low spirits and bad humour enough, knight
and squire, Sancho particularly, for with him what touched the stock of
money touched his heart, and when any was taken from him he felt as if he
was robbed of the apples of his eyes. In fine, without exchanging a word,
they mounted and quitted the famous river, Don Quixote absorbed in
thoughts of his love, Sancho in thinking of his advancement, which just
then, it seemed to him, he was very far from securing; for, fool as he
was, he saw clearly enough that his master's acts were all or most of
them utterly senseless; and he began to cast about for an opportunity of
retiring from his service and going home some day, without entering into
any explanations or taking any farewell of him. Fortune, however, ordered
matters after a fashion very much the opposite of what he contemplated.
It so happened that the next day towards sunset, on coming out of a wood,
Don Quixote cast his eyes over a green meadow, and at the far end of it
observed some people, and as he drew nearer saw that it was a hawking
party. Coming closer, he distinguished among them a lady of graceful
mien, on a pure white palfrey or hackney caparisoned with green trappings
and a silver-mounted side-saddle. The lady was also in green, and so
richly and splendidly dressed that splendour itself seemed personified in
her. On her left hand she bore a hawk, a proof to Don Quixote's mind that
she must be some great lady and the mistress of the whole hunting party,
which was the fact; so he said to Sancho, "Run Sancho, my son, and say to
that lady on the palfrey with the hawk that I, the Knight of the Lions,
kiss the hands of her exalted beauty, and if her excellence will grant me
leave I will go and kiss them in person and place myself at her service
for aught that may be in my power and her highness may command; and mind,
Sancho, how thou speakest, and take care not to thrust in any of thy
proverbs into thy message."
"You've got a likely one here to thrust any in!" said Sancho; "leave me
alone for that! Why, this is not the first time in my life I have carried
messages to high and exalted ladies."
"Except that thou didst carry to the lady Dulcinea," said Don Quixote, "I
know not that thou hast carried any other, at least in my service."
"That is true," replied Sancho; "but pledges don't distress a good payer,
and in a house where there's plenty supper is soon cooked; I mean there's
no need of telling or warning me about anything; for I'm ready for
everything and know a little of everything."
"That I believe, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "go and good luck to thee,
and God speed thee."
Sancho went off at top speed, forcing Dapple out of his regular pace, and
came to where the fair huntress was standing, and dismounting knelt
before her and said, "Fair lady, that knight that you see there, the
Knight of the Lions by name, is my master, and I am a squire of his, and
at home they call me Sancho Panza. This same Knight of the Lions, who was
called not long since the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, sends by me
to say may it please your highness to give him leave that, with your
permission, approbation, and consent, he may come and carry out his
wishes, which are, as he says and I believe, to serve your exalted
loftiness and beauty; and if you give it, your ladyship will do a thing
which will redound to your honour, and he will receive a most
distinguished favour and happiness."
"You have indeed, squire," said the lady, "delivered your message with
all the formalities such messages require; rise up, for it is not right
that the squire of a knight so great as he of the Rueful Countenance, of
whom we have heard a great deal here, should remain on his knees; rise,
my friend, and bid your master welcome to the services of myself and the
duke my husband, in a country house we have here."
Sancho got up, charmed as much by the beauty of the good lady as by her
high-bred air and her courtesy, but, above all, by what she had said
about having heard of his master, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance;
for if she did not call him Knight of the Lions it was no doubt because
he had so lately taken the name. "Tell me, brother squire," asked the
duchess (whose title, however, is not known), "this master of yours, is
he not one of whom there is a history extant in print, called 'The
Ingenious Gentleman, Don Quixote of La Mancha,' who has for the lady of
his heart a certain Dulcinea del Toboso?"
"He is the same, senora," replied Sancho; "and that squire of his who
figures, or ought to figure, in the said history under the name of Sancho
Panza, is myself, unless they have changed me in the cradle, I mean in
the press."
"I am rejoiced at all this," said the duchess; "go, brother Panza, and
tell your master that he is welcome to my estate, and that nothing could
happen me that could give me greater pleasure."
Sancho returned to his master mightily pleased with this gratifying
answer, and told him all the great lady had said to him, lauding to the
skies, in his rustic phrase, her rare beauty, her graceful gaiety, and
her courtesy. Don Quixote drew himself up briskly in his saddle, fixed
himself in his stirrups, settled his visor, gave Rocinante the spur, and
with an easy bearing advanced to kiss the hands of the duchess, who,
having sent to summon the duke her husband, told him while Don Quixote
was approaching all about the message; and as both of them had read the
First Part of this history, and from it were aware of Don Quixote's crazy
turn, they awaited him with the greatest delight and anxiety to make his
acquaintance, meaning to fall in with his humour and agree with
everything he said, and, so long as he stayed with them, to treat him as
a knight-errant, with all the ceremonies usual in the books of chivalry
they had read, for they themselves were very fond of them.
Don Quixote now came up with his visor raised, and as he seemed about to
dismount Sancho made haste to go and hold his stirrup for him; but in
getting down off Dapple he was so unlucky as to hitch his foot in one of
the ropes of the pack-saddle in such a way that he was unable to free it,
and was left hanging by it with his face and breast on the ground. Don
Quixote, who was not used to dismount without having the stirrup held,
fancying that Sancho had by this time come to hold it for him, threw
himself off with a lurch and brought Rocinante's saddle after him, which
was no doubt badly girthed, and saddle and he both came to the ground;
not without discomfiture to him and abundant curses muttered between his
teeth against the unlucky Sancho, who had his foot still in the shackles.
The duke ordered his huntsmen to go to the help of knight and squire, and
they raised Don Quixote, sorely shaken by his fall; and he, limping,
advanced as best he could to kneel before the noble pair. This, however,
the duke would by no means permit; on the contrary, dismounting from his
horse, he went and embraced Don Quixote, saying, "I am grieved, Sir
Knight of the Rueful Countenance, that your first experience on my ground
should have been such an unfortunate one as we have seen; but the
carelessness of squires is often the cause of worse accidents."
"That which has happened me in meeting you, mighty prince," replied Don
Quixote, "cannot be unfortunate, even if my fall had not stopped short of
the depths of the bottomless pit, for the glory of having seen you would
have lifted me up and delivered me from it. My squire, God's curse upon
him, is better at unloosing his tongue in talking impertinence than in
tightening the girths of a saddle to keep it steady; but however I may
be, allen or raised up, on foot or on horseback, I shall always be at
your service and that of my lady the duchess, your worthy consort, worthy
queen of beauty and paramount princess of courtesy."
"Gently, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha," said the duke; "where my lady
Dona Dulcinea del Toboso is, it is not right that other beauties should
be praised."
Sancho, by this time released from his entanglement, was standing by, and
before his master could answer he said, "There is no denying, and it must
be maintained, that my lady Dulcinea del Toboso is very beautiful; but
the hare jumps up where one least expects it; and I have heard say that
what we call nature is like a potter that makes vessels of clay, and he
who makes one fair vessel can as well make two, or three, or a hundred; I
say so because, by my faith, my lady the duchess is in no way behind my
mistress the lady Dulcinea del Toboso."
Don Quixote turned to the duchess and said, "Your highness may conceive
that never had knight-errant in this world a more talkative or a droller
squire than I have, and he will prove the truth of what I say, if your
highness is pleased to accept of my services for a few days."
To which the duchess made answer, "that worthy Sancho is droll I consider
a very good thing, because it is a sign that he is shrewd; for drollery
and sprightliness, Senor Don Quixote, as you very well know, do not take
up their abode with dull wits; and as good Sancho is droll and sprightly
I here set him down as shrewd."
"And talkative," added Don Quixote.
"So much the better," said the duke, "for many droll things cannot be
said in few words; but not to lose time in talking, come, great Knight of
the Rueful Countenance-"
"Of the Lions, your highness must say," said Sancho, "for there is no
Rueful Countenance nor any such character now."
"He of the Lions be it," continued the duke; "I say, let Sir Knight of
the Lions come to a castle of mine close by, where he shall be given that
reception which is due to so exalted a personage, and which the duchess
and I are wont to give to all knights-errant who come there."
By this time Sancho had fixed and girthed Rocinante's saddle, and Don
Quixote having got on his back and the duke mounted a fine horse, they
placed the duchess in the middle and set out for the castle. The duchess
desired Sancho to come to her side, for she found infinite enjoyment in
listening to his shrewd remarks. Sancho required no pressing, but pushed
himself in between them and the duke, who thought it rare good fortune to
receive such a knight-errant and such a homely squire in their castle.
CHAPTER XXXI.
WHICH TREATS OF MANY AND GREAT MATTERS
Supreme was the satisfaction that Sancho felt at seeing himself, as it
seemed, an established favourite with the duchess, for he looked forward
to finding in her castle what he had found in Don Diego's house and in
Basilio's; he was always fond of good living, and always seized by the
forelock any opportunity of feasting himself whenever it presented
itself. The history informs us, then, that before they reached the
country house or castle, the duke went on in advance and instructed all
his servants how they were to treat Don Quixote; and so the instant he
came up to the castle gates with the duchess, two lackeys or equerries,
clad in what they call morning gowns of fine crimson satin reaching to
their feet, hastened out, and catching Don Quixote in their arms before
he saw or heard them, said to him, "Your highness should go and take my
lady the duchess off her horse."
Don Quixote obeyed, and great bandying of compliments followed between
the two over the matter; but in the end the duchess's determination
carried the day, and she refused to get down or dismount from her palfrey
except in the arms of the duke, saying she did not consider herself
worthy to impose so unnecessary a burden on so great a knight. At length
the duke came out to take her down, and as they entered a spacious court
two fair damsels came forward and threw over Don Quixote's shoulders a
large mantle of the finest scarlet cloth, and at the same instant all the
galleries of the court were lined with the men-servants and
women-servants of the household, crying, "Welcome, flower and cream of
knight-errantry!" while all or most of them flung pellets filled with
scented water over Don Quixote and the duke and duchess; at all which Don
Quixote was greatly astonished, and this was the first time that he
thoroughly felt and believed himself to be a knight-errant in reality and
not merely in fancy, now that he saw himself treated in the same way as
he had read of such knights being treated in days of yore.