The History of Don Quixote, Volume II., Complete - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
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Sancho promised him with much earnestness to keep his mouth shut, and to
bite off his tongue before he uttered a word that was not altogether to
the purpose and well considered, and told him he might make his mind easy
on that point, for it should never be discovered through him what they
were.
Don Quixote dressed himself, put on his baldric with his sword, threw the
scarlet mantle over his shoulders, placed on his head a montera of green
satin that the damsels had given him, and thus arrayed passed out into
the large room, where he found the damsels drawn up in double file, the
same number on each side, all with the appliances for washing the hands,
which they presented to him with profuse obeisances and ceremonies. Then
came twelve pages, together with the seneschal, to lead him to dinner, as
his hosts were already waiting for him. They placed him in the midst of
them, and with much pomp and stateliness they conducted him into another
room, where there was a sumptuous table laid with but four covers. The
duchess and the duke came out to the door of the room to receive him, and
with them a grave ecclesiastic, one of those who rule noblemen's houses;
one of those who, not being born magnates themselves, never know how to
teach those who are how to behave as such; one of those who would have
the greatness of great folk measured by their own narrowness of mind; one
of those who, when they try to introduce economy into the household they
rule, lead it into meanness. One of this sort, I say, must have been the
grave churchman who came out with the duke and duchess to receive Don
Quixote.
A vast number of polite speeches were exchanged, and at length, taking
Don Quixote between them, they proceeded to sit down to table. The duke
pressed Don Quixote to take the head of the table, and, though he
refused, the entreaties of the duke were so urgent that he had to accept
it.
The ecclesiastic took his seat opposite to him, and the duke and duchess
those at the sides. All this time Sancho stood by, gaping with amazement
at the honour he saw shown to his master by these illustrious persons;
and observing all the ceremonious pressing that had passed between the
duke and Don Quixote to induce him to take his seat at the head of the
table, he said, "If your worship will give me leave I will tell you a
story of what happened in my village about this matter of seats."
The moment Sancho said this Don Quixote trembled, making sure that he was
about to say something foolish. Sancho glanced at him, and guessing his
thoughts, said, "Don't be afraid of my going astray, senor, or saying
anything that won't be pat to the purpose; I haven't forgotten the advice
your worship gave me just now about talking much or little, well or ill."
"I have no recollection of anything, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "say what
thou wilt, only say it quickly."
"Well then," said Sancho, "what I am going to say is so true that my
master Don Quixote, who is here present, will keep me from lying."
"Lie as much as thou wilt for all I care, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for
I am not going to stop thee, but consider what thou art going to say."
"I have so considered and reconsidered," said Sancho, "that the
bell-ringer's in a safe berth; as will be seen by what follows."
"It would be well," said Don Quixote, "if your highnesses would order
them to turn out this idiot, for he will talk a heap of nonsense."
"By the life of the duke, Sancho shall not be taken away from me for a
moment," said the duchess; "I am very fond of him, for I know he is very
discreet."
"Discreet be the days of your holiness," said Sancho, "for the good
opinion you have of my wit, though there's none in me; but the story I
want to tell is this. There was an invitation given by a gentleman of my
town, a very rich one, and one of quality, for he was one of the Alamos
of Medina del Campo, and married to Dona Mencia de Quinones, the daughter
of Don Alonso de Maranon, Knight of the Order of Santiago, that was
drowned at the Herradura--him there was that quarrel about years ago in
our village, that my master Don Quixote was mixed up in, to the best of
my belief, that Tomasillo the scapegrace, the son of Balbastro the smith,
was wounded in.--Isn't all this true, master mine? As you live, say so,
that these gentlefolk may not take me for some lying chatterer."
"So far," said the ecclesiastic, "I take you to be more a chatterer than
a liar; but I don't know what I shall take you for by-and-by."
"Thou citest so many witnesses and proofs, Sancho," said Don Quixote,
"that I have no choice but to say thou must be telling the truth; go on,
and cut the story short, for thou art taking the way not to make an end
for two days to come."
"He is not to cut it short," said the duchess; "on the contrary, for my
gratification, he is to tell it as he knows it, though he should not
finish it these six days; and if he took so many they would be to me the
pleasantest I ever spent."
"Well then, sirs, I say," continued Sancho, "that this same gentleman,
whom I know as well as I do my own hands, for it's not a bowshot from my
house to his, invited a poor but respectable labourer-"
"Get on, brother," said the churchman; "at the rate you are going you
will not stop with your story short of the next world."
"I'll stop less than half-way, please God," said Sancho; "and so I say
this labourer, coming to the house of the gentleman I spoke of that
invited him--rest his soul, he is now dead; and more by token he died the
death of an angel, so they say; for I was not there, for just at that
time I had gone to reap at Tembleque-"
"As you live, my son," said the churchman, "make haste back from
Tembleque, and finish your story without burying the gentleman, unless
you want to make more funerals."
"Well then, it so happened," said Sancho, "that as the pair of them were
going to sit down to table--and I think I can see them now plainer than
ever-"
Great was the enjoyment the duke and duchess derived from the irritation
the worthy churchman showed at the long-winded, halting way Sancho had of
telling his story, while Don Quixote was chafing with rage and vexation.
"So, as I was saying," continued Sancho, "as the pair of them were going
to sit down to table, as I said, the labourer insisted upon the
gentleman's taking the head of the table, and the gentleman insisted upon
the labourer's taking it, as his orders should be obeyed in his house;
but the labourer, who plumed himself on his politeness and good breeding,
would not on any account, until the gentleman, out of patience, putting
his hands on his shoulders, compelled him by force to sit down, saying,
'Sit down, you stupid lout, for wherever I sit will be the head to you;
and that's the story, and, troth, I think it hasn't been brought in amiss
here."
Don Quixote turned all colours, which, on his sunburnt face, mottled it
till it looked like jasper. The duke and duchess suppressed their
laughter so as not altogether to mortify Don Quixote, for they saw
through Sancho's impertinence; and to change the conversation, and keep
Sancho from uttering more absurdities, the duchess asked Don Quixote what
news he had of the lady Dulcinea, and if he had sent her any presents of
giants or miscreants lately, for he could not but have vanquished a good
many.
To which Don Quixote replied, "Senora, my misfortunes, though they had a
beginning, will never have an end. I have vanquished giants and I have
sent her caitiffs and miscreants; but where are they to find her if she
is enchanted and turned into the most ill-favoured peasant wench that can
be imagined?"
"I don't know," said Sancho Panza; "to me she seems the fairest creature
in the world; at any rate, in nimbleness and jumping she won't give in to
a tumbler; by my faith, senora duchess, she leaps from the ground on to
the back of an ass like a cat."
"Have you seen her enchanted, Sancho?" asked the duke.
"What, seen her!" said Sancho; "why, who the devil was it but myself that
first thought of the enchantment business? She is as much enchanted as my
father."
The ecclesiastic, when he heard them talking of giants and caitiffs and
enchantments, began to suspect that this must be Don Quixote of La
Mancha, whose story the duke was always reading; and he had himself often
reproved him for it, telling him it was foolish to read such fooleries;
and becoming convinced that his suspicion was correct, addressing the
duke, he said very angrily to him, "Senor, your excellence will have to
give account to God for what this good man does. This Don Quixote, or Don
Simpleton, or whatever his name is, cannot, I imagine, be such a
blockhead as your excellence would have him, holding out encouragement to
him to go on with his vagaries and follies." Then turning to address Don
Quixote he said, "And you, num-skull, who put it into your head that you
are a knight-errant, and vanquish giants and capture miscreants? Go your
ways in a good hour, and in a good hour be it said to you. Go home and
bring up your children if you have any, and attend to your business, and
give over going wandering about the world, gaping and making a
laughing-stock of yourself to all who know you and all who don't. Where,
in heaven's name, have you discovered that there are or ever were
knights-errant? Where are there giants in Spain or miscreants in La
Mancha, or enchanted Dulcineas, or all the rest of the silly things they
tell about you?"
Don Quixote listened attentively to the reverend gentleman's words, and
as soon as he perceived he had done speaking, regardless of the presence
of the duke and duchess, he sprang to his feet with angry looks and an
agitated countenance, and said--But the reply deserves a chapter to
itself.
CHAPTER XXXII.
OF THE REPLY DON QUIXOTE GAVE HIS CENSURER, WITH OTHER INCIDENTS, GRAVE
AND DROLL
Don Quixote, then, having risen to his feet, trembling from head to foot
like a man dosed with mercury, said in a hurried, agitated voice, "The
place I am in, the presence in which I stand, and the respect I have and
always have had for the profession to which your worship belongs, hold
and bind the hands of my just indignation; and as well for these reasons
as because I know, as everyone knows, that a gownsman's weapon is the
same as a woman's, the tongue, I will with mine engage in equal combat
with your worship, from whom one might have expected good advice instead
of foul abuse. Pious, well-meant reproof requires a different demeanour
and arguments of another sort; at any rate, to have reproved me in
public, and so roughly, exceeds the bounds of proper reproof, for that
comes better with gentleness than with rudeness; and it is not seemly to
call the sinner roundly blockhead and booby, without knowing anything of
the sin that is reproved. Come, tell me, for which of the stupidities you
have observed in me do you condemn and abuse me, and bid me go home and
look after my house and wife and children, without knowing whether I have
any? Is nothing more needed than to get a footing, by hook or by crook,
in other people's houses to rule over the masters (and that, perhaps,
after having been brought up in all the straitness of some seminary, and
without having ever seen more of the world than may lie within twenty or
thirty leagues round), to fit one to lay down the law rashly for
chivalry, and pass judgment on knights-errant? Is it, haply, an idle
occupation, or is the time ill-spent that is spent in roaming the world
in quest, not of its enjoyments, but of those arduous toils whereby the
good mount upwards to the abodes of everlasting life? If gentlemen, great
lords, nobles, men of high birth, were to rate me as a fool I should take
it as an irreparable insult; but I care not a farthing if clerks who have
never entered upon or trod the paths of chivalry should think me foolish.
Knight I am, and knight I will die, if such be the pleasure of the Most
High. Some take the broad road of overweening ambition; others that of
mean and servile flattery; others that of deceitful hypocrisy, and some
that of true religion; but I, led by my star, follow the narrow path of
knight-errantry, and in pursuit of that calling I despise wealth, but not
honour. I have redressed injuries, righted wrongs, punished insolences,
vanquished giants, and crushed monsters; I am in love, for no other
reason than that it is incumbent on knights-errant to be so; but though I
am, I am no carnal-minded lover, but one of the chaste, platonic sort. My
intentions are always directed to worthy ends, to do good to all and evil
to none; and if he who means this, does this, and makes this his practice
deserves to be called a fool, it is for your highnesses to say, O most
excellent duke and duchess."
"Good, by God!" cried Sancho; "say no more in your own defence, master
mine, for there's nothing more in the world to be said, thought, or
insisted on; and besides, when this gentleman denies, as he has, that
there are or ever have been any knights-errant in the world, is it any
wonder if he knows nothing of what he has been talking about?"
"Perhaps, brother," said the ecclesiastic, "you are that Sancho Panza
that is mentioned, to whom your master has promised an island?"
"Yes, I am," said Sancho, "and what's more, I am one who deserves it as
much as anyone; I am one of the sort--'Attach thyself to the good, and
thou wilt be one of them,' and of those, 'Not with whom thou art bred,
but with whom thou art fed,' and of those, 'Who leans against a good
tree, a good shade covers him;' I have leant upon a good master, and I
have been for months going about with him, and please God I shall be just
such another; long life to him and long life to me, for neither will he
be in any want of empires to rule, or I of islands to govern."
"No, Sancho my friend, certainly not," said the duke, "for in the name of
Senor Don Quixote I confer upon you the government of one of no small
importance that I have at my disposal."
"Go down on thy knees, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and kiss the feet of
his excellence for the favour he has bestowed upon thee."
Sancho obeyed, and on seeing this the ecclesiastic stood up from table
completely out of temper, exclaiming, "By the gown I wear, I am almost
inclined to say that your excellence is as great a fool as these sinners.
No wonder they are mad, when people who are in their senses sanction
their madness! I leave your excellence with them, for so long as they are
in the house, I will remain in my own, and spare myself the trouble of
reproving what I cannot remedy;" and without uttering another word, or
eating another morsel, he went off, the entreaties of the duke and
duchess being entirely unavailing to stop him; not that the duke said
much to him, for he could not, because of the laughter his uncalled-for
anger provoked.
When he had done laughing, he said to Don Quixote, "You have replied on
your own behalf so stoutly, Sir Knight of the Lions, that there is no
occasion to seek further satisfaction for this, which, though it may look
like an offence, is not so at all, for, as women can give no offence, no
more can ecclesiastics, as you very well know."
"That is true," said Don Quixote, "and the reason is, that he who is not
liable to offence cannot give offence to anyone. Women, children, and
ecclesiastics, as they cannot defend themselves, though they may receive
offence cannot be insulted, because between the offence and the insult
there is, as your excellence very well knows, this difference: the insult
comes from one who is capable of offering it, and does so, and maintains
it; the offence may come from any quarter without carrying insult. To
take an example: a man is standing unsuspectingly in the street and ten
others come up armed and beat him; he draws his sword and quits himself
like a man, but the number of his antagonists makes it impossible for him
to effect his purpose and avenge himself; this man suffers an offence but
not an insult. Another example will make the same thing plain: a man is
standing with his back turned, another comes up and strikes him, and
after striking him takes to flight, without waiting an instant, and the
other pursues him but does not overtake him; he who received the blow
received an offence, but not an insult, because an insult must be
maintained. If he who struck him, though he did so sneakingly and
treacherously, had drawn his sword and stood and faced him, then he who
had been struck would have received offence and insult at the same time;
offence because he was struck treacherously, insult because he who struck
him maintained what he had done, standing his ground without taking to
flight. And so, according to the laws of the accursed duel, I may have
received offence, but not insult, for neither women nor children can
maintain it, nor can they wound, nor have they any way of standing their
ground, and it is just the same with those connected with religion; for
these three sorts of persons are without arms offensive or defensive, and
so, though naturally they are bound to defend themselves, they have no
right to offend anybody; and though I said just now I might have received
offence, I say now certainly not, for he who cannot receive an insult can
still less give one; for which reasons I ought not to feel, nor do I
feel, aggrieved at what that good man said to me; I only wish he had
stayed a little longer, that I might have shown him the mistake he makes
in supposing and maintaining that there are not and never have been any
knights-errant in the world; had Amadis or any of his countless
descendants heard him say as much, I am sure it would not have gone well
with his worship."
"I will take my oath of that," said Sancho; "they would have given him a
slash that would have slit him down from top to toe like a pomegranate or
a ripe melon; they were likely fellows to put up with jokes of that sort!
By my faith, I'm certain if Reinaldos of Montalvan had heard the little
man's words he would have given him such a spank on the mouth that he
wouldn't have spoken for the next three years; ay, let him tackle them,
and he'll see how he'll get out of their hands!"
The duchess, as she listened to Sancho, was ready to die with laughter,
and in her own mind she set him down as droller and madder than his
master; and there were a good many just then who were of the same
opinion.
Don Quixote finally grew calm, and dinner came to an end, and as the
cloth was removed four damsels came in, one of them with a silver basin,
another with a jug also of silver, a third with two fine white towels on
her shoulder, and the fourth with her arms bared to the elbows, and in
her white hands (for white they certainly were) a round ball of Naples
soap. The one with the basin approached, and with arch composure and
impudence, thrust it under Don Quixote's chin, who, wondering at such a
ceremony, said never a word, supposing it to be the custom of that
country to wash beards instead of hands; he therefore stretched his out
as far as he could, and at the same instant the jug began to pour and the
damsel with the soap rubbed his beard briskly, raising snow-flakes, for
the soap lather was no less white, not only over the beard, but all over
the face, and over the eyes of the submissive knight, so that they were
perforce obliged to keep shut. The duke and duchess, who had not known
anything about this, waited to see what came of this strange washing. The
barber damsel, when she had him a hand's breadth deep in lather,
pretended that there was no more water, and bade the one with the jug go
and fetch some, while Senor Don Quixote waited. She did so, and Don
Quixote was left the strangest and most ludicrous figure that could be
imagined. All those present, and there were a good many, were watching
him, and as they saw him there with half a yard of neck, and that
uncommonly brown, his eyes shut, and his beard full of soap, it was a
great wonder, and only by great discretion, that they were able to
restrain their laughter. The damsels, the concocters of the joke, kept
their eyes down, not daring to look at their master and mistress; and as
for them, laughter and anger struggled within them, and they knew not
what to do, whether to punish the audacity of the girls, or to reward
them for the amusement they had received from seeing Don Quixote in such
a plight.
At length the damsel with the jug returned and they made an end of
washing Don Quixote, and the one who carried the towels very deliberately
wiped him and dried him; and all four together making him a profound
obeisance and curtsey, they were about to go, when the duke, lest Don
Quixote should see through the joke, called out to the one with the basin
saying, "Come and wash me, and take care that there is water enough." The
girl, sharp-witted and prompt, came and placed the basin for the duke as
she had done for Don Quixote, and they soon had him well soaped and
washed, and having wiped him dry they made their obeisance and retired.
It appeared afterwards that the duke had sworn that if they had not
washed him as they had Don Quixote he would have punished them for their
impudence, which they adroitly atoned for by soaping him as well.
Sancho observed the ceremony of the washing very attentively, and said to
himself, "God bless me, if it were only the custom in this country to
wash squires' beards too as well as knights'. For by God and upon my soul
I want it badly; and if they gave me a scrape of the razor besides I'd
take it as a still greater kindness."
"What are you saying to yourself, Sancho?" asked the duchess.
"I was saying, senora," he replied, "that in the courts of other princes,
when the cloth is taken away, I have always heard say they give water for
the hands, but not lye for the beard; and that shows it is good to live
long that you may see much; to be sure, they say too that he who lives a
long life must undergo much evil, though to undergo a washing of that
sort is pleasure rather than pain."
"Don't be uneasy, friend Sancho," said the duchess; "I will take care
that my damsels wash you, and even put you in the tub if necessary."
"I'll be content with the beard," said Sancho, "at any rate for the
present; and as for the future, God has decreed what is to be."
"Attend to worthy Sancho's request, seneschal," said the duchess, "and do
exactly what he wishes."
The seneschal replied that Senor Sancho should be obeyed in everything;
and with that he went away to dinner and took Sancho along with him,
while the duke and duchess and Don Quixote remained at table discussing a
great variety of things, but all bearing on the calling of arms and
knight-errantry.
The duchess begged Don Quixote, as he seemed to have a retentive memory,
to describe and portray to her the beauty and features of the lady
Dulcinea del Toboso, for, judging by what fame trumpeted abroad of her
beauty, she felt sure she must be the fairest creature in the world, nay,
in all La Mancha.
Don Quixote sighed on hearing the duchess's request, and said, "If I
could pluck out my heart, and lay it on a plate on this table here before
your highness's eyes, it would spare my tongue the pain of telling what
can hardly be thought of, for in it your excellence would see her
portrayed in full. But why should I attempt to depict and describe in
detail, and feature by feature, the beauty of the peerless Dulcinea, the
burden being one worthy of other shoulders than mine, an enterprise
wherein the pencils of Parrhasius, Timantes, and Apelles, and the graver
of Lysippus ought to be employed, to paint it in pictures and carve it in
marble and bronze, and Ciceronian and Demosthenian eloquence to sound its
praises?"
"What does Demosthenian mean, Senor Don Quixote?" said the duchess; "it
is a word I never heard in all my life."
"Demosthenian eloquence," said Don Quixote, "means the eloquence of
Demosthenes, as Ciceronian means that of Cicero, who were the two most
eloquent orators in the world."
"True," said the duke; "you must have lost your wits to ask such a
question. Nevertheless, Senor Don Quixote would greatly gratify us if he
would depict her to us; for never fear, even in an outline or sketch she
will be something to make the fairest envious."
"I would do so certainly," said Don Quixote, "had she not been blurred to
my mind's eye by the misfortune that fell upon her a short time since,
one of such a nature that I am more ready to weep over it than to
describe it. For your highnesses must know that, going a few days back to
kiss her hands and receive her benediction, approbation, and permission
for this third sally, I found her altogether a different being from the
one I sought; I found her enchanted and changed from a princess into a
peasant, from fair to foul, from an angel into a devil, from fragrant to
pestiferous, from refined to clownish, from a dignified lady into a
jumping tomboy, and, in a word, from Dulcinea del Toboso into a coarse
Sayago wench."