The History of Don Quixote, Volume II., Complete - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45
"That is true," said the duchess; "but tell me, Sancho, what is this you
say about the cave of Montesinos, for I should like to know."
Sancho upon this related to her, word for word, what has been said
already touching that adventure, and having heard it the duchess said,
"From this occurrence it may be inferred that, as the great Don Quixote
says he saw there the same country wench Sancho saw on the way from El
Toboso, it is, no doubt, Dulcinea, and that there are some very active
and exceedingly busy enchanters about."
"So I say," said Sancho, "and if my lady Dulcinea is enchanted, so much
the worse for her, and I'm not going to pick a quarrel with my master's
enemies, who seem to be many and spiteful. The truth is that the one I
saw was a country wench, and I set her down to be a country wench; and if
that was Dulcinea it must not be laid at my door, nor should I be called
to answer for it or take the consequences. But they must go nagging at me
at every step--'Sancho said it, Sancho did it, Sancho here, Sancho
there,' as if Sancho was nobody at all, and not that same Sancho Panza
that's now going all over the world in books, so Samson Carrasco told me,
and he's at any rate one that's a bachelor of Salamanca; and people of
that sort can't lie, except when the whim seizes them or they have some
very good reason for it. So there's no occasion for anybody to quarrel
with me; and then I have a good character, and, as I have heard my master
say, 'a good name is better than great riches;' let them only stick me
into this government and they'll see wonders, for one who has been a good
squire will be a good governor."
"All worthy Sancho's observations," said the duchess, "are Catonian
sentences, or at any rate out of the very heart of Michael Verino
himself, who florentibus occidit annis. In fact, to speak in his own
style, 'under a bad cloak there's often a good drinker.'"
"Indeed, senora," said Sancho, "I never yet drank out of wickedness; from
thirst I have very likely, for I have nothing of the hypocrite in me; I
drink when I'm inclined, or, if I'm not inclined, when they offer it to
me, so as not to look either strait-laced or ill-bred; for when a friend
drinks one's health what heart can be so hard as not to return it? But if
I put on my shoes I don't dirty them; besides, squires to knights-errant
mostly drink water, for they are always wandering among woods, forests
and meadows, mountains and crags, without a drop of wine to be had if
they gave their eyes for it."
"So I believe," said the duchess; "and now let Sancho go and take his
sleep, and we will talk by-and-by at greater length, and settle how he
may soon go and stick himself into the government, as he says."
Sancho once more kissed the duchess's hand, and entreated her to let good
care be taken of his Dapple, for he was the light of his eyes.
"What is Dapple?" said the duchess.
"My ass," said Sancho, "which, not to mention him by that name, I'm
accustomed to call Dapple; I begged this lady duenna here to take care of
him when I came into the castle, and she got as angry as if I had said
she was ugly or old, though it ought to be more natural and proper for
duennas to feed asses than to ornament chambers. God bless me! what a
spite a gentleman of my village had against these ladies!"
"He must have been some clown," said Dona Rodriguez the duenna; "for if
he had been a gentleman and well-born he would have exalted them higher
than the horns of the moon."
"That will do," said the duchess; "no more of this; hush, Dona Rodriguez,
and let Senor Panza rest easy and leave the treatment of Dapple in my
charge, for as he is a treasure of Sancho's, I'll put him on the apple of
my eye."
"It will be enough for him to be in the stable," said Sancho, "for
neither he nor I are worthy to rest a moment in the apple of your
highness's eye, and I'd as soon stab myself as consent to it; for though
my master says that in civilities it is better to lose by a card too many
than a card too few, when it comes to civilities to asses we must mind
what we are about and keep within due bounds."
"Take him to your government, Sancho," said the duchess, "and there you
will be able to make as much of him as you like, and even release him
from work and pension him off."
"Don't think, senora duchess, that you have said anything absurd," said
Sancho; "I have seen more than two asses go to governments, and for me to
take mine with me would be nothing new."
Sancho's words made the duchess laugh again and gave her fresh amusement,
and dismissing him to sleep she went away to tell the duke the
conversation she had had with him, and between them they plotted and
arranged to play a joke upon Don Quixote that was to be a rare one and
entirely in knight-errantry style, and in that same style they practised
several upon him, so much in keeping and so clever that they form the
best adventures this great history contains.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
WHICH RELATES HOW THEY LEARNED THE WAY IN WHICH THEY WERE TO DISENCHANT
THE PEERLESS DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO, WHICH IS ONE OF THE RAREST ADVENTURES
IN THIS BOOK
Great was the pleasure the duke and duchess took in the conversation of
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; and, more bent than ever upon the plan they
had of practising some jokes upon them that should have the look and
appearance of adventures, they took as their basis of action what Don
Quixote had already told them about the cave of Montesinos, in order to
play him a famous one. But what the duchess marvelled at above all was
that Sancho's simplicity could be so great as to make him believe as
absolute truth that Dulcinea had been enchanted, when it was he himself
who had been the enchanter and trickster in the business. Having,
therefore, instructed their servants in everything they were to do, six
days afterwards they took him out to hunt, with as great a retinue of
huntsmen and beaters as a crowned king.
They presented Don Quixote with a hunting suit, and Sancho with another
of the finest green cloth; but Don Quixote declined to put his on, saying
that he must soon return to the hard pursuit of arms, and could not carry
wardrobes or stores with him. Sancho, however, took what they gave him,
meaning to sell it the first opportunity.
The appointed day having arrived, Don Quixote armed himself, and Sancho
arrayed himself, and mounted on his Dapple (for he would not give him up
though they offered him a horse), he placed himself in the midst of the
troop of huntsmen. The duchess came out splendidly attired, and Don
Quixote, in pure courtesy and politeness, held the rein of her palfrey,
though the duke wanted not to allow him; and at last they reached a wood
that lay between two high mountains, where, after occupying various
posts, ambushes, and paths, and distributing the party in different
positions, the hunt began with great noise, shouting, and hallooing, so
that, between the baying of the hounds and the blowing of the horns, they
could not hear one another. The duchess dismounted, and with a sharp
boar-spear in her hand posted herself where she knew the wild boars were
in the habit of passing. The duke and Don Quixote likewise dismounted and
placed themselves one at each side of her. Sancho took up a position in
the rear of all without dismounting from Dapple, whom he dared not desert
lest some mischief should befall him. Scarcely had they taken their stand
in a line with several of their servants, when they saw a huge boar,
closely pressed by the hounds and followed by the huntsmen, making
towards them, grinding his teeth and tusks, and scattering foam from his
mouth. As soon as he saw him Don Quixote, bracing his shield on his arm,
and drawing his sword, advanced to meet him; the duke with boar-spear did
the same; but the duchess would have gone in front of them all had not
the duke prevented her. Sancho alone, deserting Dapple at the sight of
the mighty beast, took to his heels as hard as he could and strove in
vain to mount a tall oak. As he was clinging to a branch, however,
half-way up in his struggle to reach the top, the bough, such was his
ill-luck and hard fate, gave way, and caught in his fall by a broken limb
of the oak, he hung suspended in the air unable to reach the ground.
Finding himself in this position, and that the green coat was beginning
to tear, and reflecting that if the fierce animal came that way he might
be able to get at him, he began to utter such cries, and call for help so
earnestly, that all who heard him and did not see him felt sure he must
be in the teeth of some wild beast. In the end the tusked boar fell
pierced by the blades of the many spears they held in front of him; and
Don Quixote, turning round at the cries of Sancho, for he knew by them
that it was he, saw him hanging from the oak head downwards, with Dapple,
who did not forsake him in his distress, close beside him; and Cide
Hamete observes that he seldom saw Sancho Panza without seeing Dapple, or
Dapple without seeing Sancho Panza; such was their attachment and loyalty
one to the other. Don Quixote went over and unhooked Sancho, who, as soon
as he found himself on the ground, looked at the rent in his huntingcoat
and was grieved to the heart, for he thought he had got a patrimonial
estate in that suit.
Meanwhile they had slung the mighty boar across the back of a mule, and
having covered it with sprigs of rosemary and branches of myrtle, they
bore it away as the spoils of victory to some large field-tents which had
been pitched in the middle of the wood, where they found the tables laid
and dinner served, in such grand and sumptuous style that it was easy to
see the rank and magnificence of those who had provided it. Sancho, as he
showed the rents in his torn suit to the duchess, observed, "If we had
been hunting hares, or after small birds, my coat would have been safe
from being in the plight it's in; I don't know what pleasure one can find
in lying in wait for an animal that may take your life with his tusk if
he gets at you. I recollect having heard an old ballad sung that says,
By bears be thou devoured, as erst
Was famous Favila."
"That," said Don Quixote, "was a Gothic king, who, going a-hunting, was
devoured by a bear."
"Just so," said Sancho; "and I would not have kings and princes expose
themselves to such dangers for the sake of a pleasure which, to my mind,
ought not to be one, as it consists in killing an animal that has done no
harm whatever."
"Quite the contrary, Sancho; you are wrong there," said the duke; "for
hunting is more suitable and requisite for kings and princes than for
anybody else. The chase is the emblem of war; it has stratagems, wiles,
and crafty devices for overcoming the enemy in safety; in it extreme cold
and intolerable heat have to be borne, indolence and sleep are despised,
the bodily powers are invigorated, the limbs of him who engages in it are
made supple, and, in a word, it is a pursuit which may be followed
without injury to anyone and with enjoyment to many; and the best of it
is, it is not for everybody, as field-sports of other sorts are, except
hawking, which also is only for kings and great lords. Reconsider your
opinion therefore, Sancho, and when you are governor take to hunting, and
you will find the good of it."
"Nay," said Sancho, "the good governor should have a broken leg and keep
at home;" it would be a nice thing if, after people had been at the
trouble of coming to look for him on business, the governor were to be
away in the forest enjoying himself; the government would go on badly in
that fashion. By my faith, senor, hunting and amusements are more fit for
idlers than for governors; what I intend to amuse myself with is playing
all fours at Eastertime, and bowls on Sundays and holidays; for these
huntings don't suit my condition or agree with my conscience."
"God grant it may turn out so," said the duke; "because it's a long step
from saying to doing."
"Be that as it may," said Sancho, "'pledges don't distress a good payer,'
and 'he whom God helps does better than he who gets up early,' and 'it's
the tripes that carry the feet and not the feet the tripes;' I mean to
say that if God gives me help and I do my duty honestly, no doubt I'll
govern better than a gerfalcon. Nay, let them only put a finger in my
mouth, and they'll see whether I can bite or not."
"The curse of God and all his saints upon thee, thou accursed Sancho!"
exclaimed Don Quixote; "when will the day come--as I have often said to
thee--when I shall hear thee make one single coherent, rational remark
without proverbs? Pray, your highnesses, leave this fool alone, for he
will grind your souls between, not to say two, but two thousand proverbs,
dragged in as much in season, and as much to the purpose as--may God
grant as much health to him, or to me if I want to listen to them!"
"Sancho Panza's proverbs," said the duchess, "though more in number than
the Greek Commander's, are not therefore less to be esteemed for the
conciseness of the maxims. For my own part, I can say they give me more
pleasure than others that may be better brought in and more seasonably
introduced."
In pleasant conversation of this sort they passed out of the tent into
the wood, and the day was spent in visiting some of the posts and
hiding-places, and then night closed in, not, however, as brilliantly or
tranquilly as might have been expected at the season, for it was then
midsummer; but bringing with it a kind of haze that greatly aided the
project of the duke and duchess; and thus, as night began to fall, and a
little after twilight set in, suddenly the whole wood on all four sides
seemed to be on fire, and shortly after, here, there, on all sides, a
vast number of trumpets and other military instruments were heard, as if
several troops of cavalry were passing through the wood. The blaze of the
fire and the noise of the warlike instruments almost blinded the eyes and
deafened the ears of those that stood by, and indeed of all who were in
the wood. Then there were heard repeated lelilies after the fashion of
the Moors when they rush to battle; trumpets and clarions brayed, drums
beat, fifes played, so unceasingly and so fast that he could not have had
any senses who did not lose them with the confused din of so many
instruments. The duke was astounded, the duchess amazed, Don Quixote
wondering, Sancho Panza trembling, and indeed, even they who were aware
of the cause were frightened. In their fear, silence fell upon them, and
a postillion, in the guise of a demon, passed in front of them, blowing,
in lieu of a bugle, a huge hollow horn that gave out a horrible hoarse
note.
"Ho there! brother courier," cried the duke, "who are you? Where are you
going? What troops are these that seem to be passing through the wood?"
To which the courier replied in a harsh, discordant voice, "I am the
devil; I am in search of Don Quixote of La Mancha; those who are coming
this way are six troops of enchanters, who are bringing on a triumphal
car the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso; she comes under enchantment,
together with the gallant Frenchman Montesinos, to give instructions to
Don Quixote as to how, she the said lady, may be disenchanted."
"If you were the devil, as you say and as your appearance indicates,"
said the duke, "you would have known the said knight Don Quixote of La
Mancha, for you have him here before you."
"By God and upon my conscience," said the devil, "I never observed it,
for my mind is occupied with so many different things that I was
forgetting the main thing I came about."
"This demon must be an honest fellow and a good Christian," said Sancho;
"for if he wasn't he wouldn't swear by God and his conscience; I feel
sure now there must be good souls even in hell itself."
Without dismounting, the demon then turned to Don Quixote and said, "The
unfortunate but valiant knight Montesinos sends me to thee, the Knight of
the Lions (would that I saw thee in their claws), bidding me tell thee to
wait for him wherever I may find thee, as he brings with him her whom
they call Dulcinea del Toboso, that he may show thee what is needful in
order to disenchant her; and as I came for no more I need stay no longer;
demons of my sort be with thee, and good angels with these gentles;" and
so saying he blew his huge horn, turned about and went off without
waiting for a reply from anyone.
They all felt fresh wonder, but particularly Sancho and Don Quixote;
Sancho to see how, in defiance of the truth, they would have it that
Dulcinea was enchanted; Don Quixote because he could not feel sure
whether what had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos was true or
not; and as he was deep in these cogitations the duke said to him, "Do
you mean to wait, Senor Don Quixote?"
"Why not?" replied he; "here will I wait, fearless and firm, though all
hell should come to attack me."
"Well then, if I see another devil or hear another horn like the last,
I'll wait here as much as in Flanders," said Sancho.
Night now closed in more completely, and many lights began to flit
through the wood, just as those fiery exhalations from the earth, that
look like shooting-stars to our eyes, flit through the heavens; a
frightful noise, too, was heard, like that made by the solid wheels the
ox-carts usually have, by the harsh, ceaseless creaking of which, they
say, the bears and wolves are put to flight, if there happen to be any
where they are passing. In addition to all this commotion, there came a
further disturbance to increase the tumult, for now it seemed as if in
truth, on all four sides of the wood, four encounters or battles were
going on at the same time; in one quarter resounded the dull noise of a
terrible cannonade, in another numberless muskets were being discharged,
the shouts of the combatants sounded almost close at hand, and farther
away the Moorish lelilies were raised again and again. In a word, the
bugles, the horns, the clarions, the trumpets, the drums, the cannon, the
musketry, and above all the tremendous noise of the carts, all made up
together a din so confused and terrific that Don Quixote had need to
summon up all his courage to brave it; but Sancho's gave way, and he fell
fainting on the skirt of the duchess's robe, who let him lie there and
promptly bade them throw water in his face. This was done, and he came to
himself by the time that one of the carts with the creaking wheels
reached the spot. It was drawn by four plodding oxen all covered with
black housings; on each horn they had fixed a large lighted wax taper,
and on the top of the cart was constructed a raised seat, on which sat a
venerable old man with a beard whiter than the very snow, and so long
that it fell below his waist; he was dressed in a long robe of black
buckram; for as the cart was thickly set with a multitude of candles it
was easy to make out everything that was on it. Leading it were two
hideous demons, also clad in buckram, with countenances so frightful that
Sancho, having once seen them, shut his eyes so as not to see them again.
As soon as the cart came opposite the spot the old man rose from his
lofty seat, and standing up said in a loud voice, "I am the sage
Lirgandeo," and without another word the cart then passed on. Behind it
came another of the same form, with another aged man enthroned, who,
stopping the cart, said in a voice no less solemn than that of the first,
"I am the sage Alquife, the great friend of Urganda the Unknown," and
passed on. Then another cart came by at the same pace, but the occupant
of the throne was not old like the others, but a man stalwart and robust,
and of a forbidding countenance, who as he came up said in a voice far
hoarser and more devilish, "I am the enchanter Archelaus, the mortal
enemy of Amadis of Gaul and all his kindred," and then passed on. Having
gone a short distance the three carts halted and the monotonous noise of
their wheels ceased, and soon after they heard another, not noise, but
sound of sweet, harmonious music, of which Sancho was very glad, taking
it to be a good sign; and said he to the duchess, from whom he did not
stir a step, or for a single instant, "Senora, where there's music there
can't be mischief."
"Nor where there are lights and it is bright," said the duchess; to which
Sancho replied, "Fire gives light, and it's bright where there are
bonfires, as we see by those that are all round us and perhaps may burn
us; but music is a sign of mirth and merrymaking."
"That remains to be seen," said Don Quixote, who was listening to all
that passed; and he was right, as is shown in the following chapter.
CHAPTER XXXV.
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE INSTRUCTION GIVEN TO DON QUIXOTE TOUCHING THE
DISENCHANTMENT OF DULCINEA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MARVELLOUS INCIDENTS
They saw advancing towards them, to the sound of this pleasing music,
what they call a triumphal car, drawn by six grey mules with white linen
housings, on each of which was mounted a penitent, robed also in white,
with a large lighted wax taper in his hand. The car was twice or,
perhaps, three times as large as the former ones, and in front and on the
sides stood twelve more penitents, all as white as snow and all with
lighted tapers, a spectacle to excite fear as well as wonder; and on a
raised throne was seated a nymph draped in a multitude of silver-tissue
veils with an embroidery of countless gold spangles glittering all over
them, that made her appear, if not richly, at least brilliantly,
apparelled. She had her face covered with thin transparent sendal, the
texture of which did not prevent the fair features of a maiden from being
distinguished, while the numerous lights made it possible to judge of her
beauty and of her years, which seemed to be not less than seventeen but
not to have yet reached twenty. Beside her was a figure in a robe of
state, as they call it, reaching to the feet, while the head was covered
with a black veil. But the instant the car was opposite the duke and
duchess and Don Quixote the music of the clarions ceased, and then that
of the lutes and harps on the car, and the figure in the robe rose up,
and flinging it apart and removing the veil from its face, disclosed to
their eyes the shape of Death itself, fleshless and hideous, at which
sight Don Quixote felt uneasy, Sancho frightened, and the duke and
duchess displayed a certain trepidation. Having risen to its feet, this
living death, in a sleepy voice and with a tongue hardly awake, held
forth as follows:
I am that Merlin who the legends say
The devil had for father, and the lie
Hath gathered credence with the lapse of time.
Of magic prince, of Zoroastric lore
Monarch and treasurer, with jealous eye
I view the efforts of the age to hide
The gallant deeds of doughty errant knights,
Who are, and ever have been, dear to me.
Enchanters and magicians and their kind
Are mostly hard of heart; not so am I;
For mine is tender, soft, compassionate,
And its delight is doing good to all.
In the dim caverns of the gloomy Dis,
Where, tracing mystic lines and characters,
My soul abideth now, there came to me
The sorrow-laden plaint of her, the fair,
The peerless Dulcinea del Toboso.
I knew of her enchantment and her fate,
From high-born dame to peasant wench transformed
And touched with pity, first I turned the leaves
Of countless volumes of my devilish craft,
And then, in this grim grisly skeleton
Myself encasing, hither have I come
To show where lies the fitting remedy
To give relief in such a piteous case.
O thou, the pride and pink of all that wear
The adamantine steel! O shining light,
O beacon, polestar, path and guide of all
Who, scorning slumber and the lazy down,
Adopt the toilsome life of bloodstained arms!
To thee, great hero who all praise transcends,
La Mancha's lustre and Iberia's star,
Don Quixote, wise as brave, to thee I say--
For peerless Dulcinea del Toboso
Her pristine form and beauty to regain,
'T is needful that thy esquire Sancho shall,
On his own sturdy buttocks bared to heaven,
Three thousand and three hundred lashes lay,
And that they smart and sting and hurt him well.
Thus have the authors of her woe resolved.
And this is, gentles, wherefore I have come.
"By all that's good," exclaimed Sancho at this, "I'll just as soon give
myself three stabs with a dagger as three, not to say three thousand,
lashes. The devil take such a way of disenchanting! I don't see what my
backside has got to do with enchantments. By God, if Senor Merlin has not
found out some other way of disenchanting the lady Dulcinea del Toboso,
she may go to her grave enchanted."
"But I'll take you, Don Clown stuffed with garlic," said Don Quixote,
"and tie you to a tree as naked as when your mother brought you forth,
and give you, not to say three thousand three hundred, but six thousand
six hundred lashes, and so well laid on that they won't be got rid of if
you try three thousand three hundred times; don't answer me a word or
I'll tear your soul out."