The History of Don Quixote, Volume II., Complete - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
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She held her peace and said no more, and Don Quixote made answer, "Of a
truth, fairest lady, Actaeon when he unexpectedly beheld Diana bathing in
the stream could not have been more fascinated and wonderstruck than I at
the sight of your beauty. I commend your mode of entertainment, and thank
you for the kindness of your invitation; and if I can serve you, you may
command me with full confidence of being obeyed, for my profession is
none other than to show myself grateful, and ready to serve persons of
all conditions, but especially persons of quality such as your appearance
indicates; and if, instead of taking up, as they probably do, but a small
space, these nets took up the whole surface of the globe, I would seek
out new worlds through which to pass, so as not to break them; and that
ye may give some degree of credence to this exaggerated language of mine,
know that it is no less than Don Quixote of La Mancha that makes this
declaration to you, if indeed it be that such a name has reached your
ears."
"Ah! friend of my soul," instantly exclaimed the other shepherdess, "what
great good fortune has befallen us! Seest thou this gentleman we have
before us? Well then let me tell thee he is the most valiant and the most
devoted and the most courteous gentleman in all the world, unless a
history of his achievements that has been printed and I have read is
telling lies and deceiving us. I will lay a wager that this good fellow
who is with him is one Sancho Panza his squire, whose drolleries none can
equal."
"That's true," said Sancho; "I am that same droll and squire you speak
of, and this gentleman is my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, the same
that's in the history and that they talk about."
"Oh, my friend," said the other, "let us entreat him to stay; for it will
give our fathers and brothers infinite pleasure; I too have heard just
what thou hast told me of the valour of the one and the drolleries of the
other; and what is more, of him they say that he is the most constant and
loyal lover that was ever heard of, and that his lady is one Dulcinea del
Toboso, to whom all over Spain the palm of beauty is awarded."
"And justly awarded," said Don Quixote, "unless, indeed, your unequalled
beauty makes it a matter of doubt. But spare yourselves the trouble,
ladies, of pressing me to stay, for the urgent calls of my profession do
not allow me to take rest under any circumstances."
At this instant there came up to the spot where the four stood a brother
of one of the two shepherdesses, like them in shepherd costume, and as
richly and gaily dressed as they were. They told him that their companion
was the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the other Sancho his
squire, of whom he knew already from having read their history. The gay
shepherd offered him his services and begged that he would accompany him
to their tents, and Don Quixote had to give way and comply. And now the
gave was started, and the nets were filled with a variety of birds that
deceived by the colour fell into the danger they were flying from.
Upwards of thirty persons, all gaily attired as shepherds and
shepherdesses, assembled on the spot, and were at once informed who Don
Quixote and his squire were, whereat they were not a little delighted, as
they knew of him already through his history. They repaired to the tents,
where they found tables laid out, and choicely, plentifully, and neatly
furnished. They treated Don Quixote as a person of distinction, giving
him the place of honour, and all observed him, and were full of
astonishment at the spectacle. At last the cloth being removed, Don
Quixote with great composure lifted up his voice and said:
"One of the greatest sins that men are guilty of is--some will say
pride--but I say ingratitude, going by the common saying that hell is
full of ingrates. This sin, so far as it has lain in my power, I have
endeavoured to avoid ever since I have enjoyed the faculty of reason; and
if I am unable to requite good deeds that have been done me by other
deeds, I substitute the desire to do so; and if that be not enough I make
them known publicly; for he who declares and makes known the good deeds
done to him would repay them by others if it were in his power, and for
the most part those who receive are the inferiors of those who give.
Thus, God is superior to all because he is the supreme giver, and the
offerings of man fall short by an infinite distance of being a full
return for the gifts of God; but gratitude in some degree makes up for
this deficiency and shortcoming. I therefore, grateful for the favour
that has been extended to me here, and unable to make a return in the
same measure, restricted as I am by the narrow limits of my power, offer
what I can and what I have to offer in my own way; and so I declare that
for two full days I will maintain in the middle of this highway leading
to Saragossa, that these ladies disguised as shepherdesses, who are here
present, are the fairest and most courteous maidens in the world,
excepting only the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole mistress of my
thoughts, be it said without offence to those who hear me, ladies and
gentlemen."
On hearing this Sancho, who had been listening with great attention,
cried out in a loud voice, "Is it possible there is anyone in the world
who will dare to say and swear that this master of mine is a madman? Say,
gentlemen shepherds, is there a village priest, be he ever so wise or
learned, who could say what my master has said; or is there
knight-errant, whatever renown he may have as a man of valour, that could
offer what my master has offered now?"
Don Quixote turned upon Sancho, and with a countenance glowing with anger
said to him, "Is it possible, Sancho, there is anyone in the whole world
who will say thou art not a fool, with a lining to match, and I know not
what trimmings of impertinence and roguery? Who asked thee to meddle in
my affairs, or to inquire whether I am a wise man or a blockhead? Hold
thy peace; answer me not a word; saddle Rocinante if he be unsaddled; and
let us go to put my offer into execution; for with the right that I have
on my side thou mayest reckon as vanquished all who shall venture to
question it;" and in a great rage, and showing his anger plainly, he rose
from his seat, leaving the company lost in wonder, and making them feel
doubtful whether they ought to regard him as a madman or a rational
being. In the end, though they sought to dissuade him from involving
himself in such a challenge, assuring him they admitted his gratitude as
fully established, and needed no fresh proofs to be convinced of his
valiant spirit, as those related in the history of his exploits were
sufficient, still Don Quixote persisted in his resolve; and mounted on
Rocinante, bracing his buckler on his arm and grasping his lance, he
posted himself in the middle of a high road that was not far from the
green meadow. Sancho followed on Dapple, together with all the members of
the pastoral gathering, eager to see what would be the upshot of his
vainglorious and extraordinary proposal.
Don Quixote, then, having, as has been said, planted himself in the
middle of the road, made the welkin ring with words to this effect: "Ho
ye travellers and wayfarers, knights, squires, folk on foot or on
horseback, who pass this way or shall pass in the course of the next two
days! Know that Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant, is posted here
to maintain by arms that the beauty and courtesy enshrined in the nymphs
that dwell in these meadows and groves surpass all upon earth, putting
aside the lady of my heart, Dulcinea del Toboso. Wherefore, let him who
is of the opposite opinion come on, for here I await him."
Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they fell unheard by any
adventurer; but fate, that was guiding affairs for him from better to
better, so ordered it that shortly afterwards there appeared on the road
a crowd of men on horseback, many of them with lances in their hands, all
riding in a compact body and in great haste. No sooner had those who were
with Don Quixote seen them than they turned about and withdrew to some
distance from the road, for they knew that if they stayed some harm might
come to them; but Don Quixote with intrepid heart stood his ground, and
Sancho Panza shielded himself with Rocinante's hind-quarters. The troop
of lancers came up, and one of them who was in advance began shouting to
Don Quixote, "Get out of the way, you son of the devil, or these bulls
will knock you to pieces!"
"Rabble!" returned Don Quixote, "I care nothing for bulls, be they the
fiercest Jarama breeds on its banks. Confess at once, scoundrels, that
what I have declared is true; else ye have to deal with me in combat."
The herdsman had no time to reply, nor Don Quixote to get out of the way
even if he wished; and so the drove of fierce bulls and tame bullocks,
together with the crowd of herdsmen and others who were taking them to be
penned up in a village where they were to be run the next day, passed
over Don Quixote and over Sancho, Rocinante and Dapple, hurling them all
to the earth and rolling them over on the ground. Sancho was left
crushed, Don Quixote scared, Dapple belaboured and Rocinante in no very
sound condition.
They all got up, however, at length, and Don Quixote in great haste,
stumbling here and falling there, started off running after the drove,
shouting out, "Hold! stay! ye rascally rabble, a single knight awaits
you, and he is not of the temper or opinion of those who say, 'For a
flying enemy make a bridge of silver.'" The retreating party in their
haste, however, did not stop for that, or heed his menaces any more than
last year's clouds. Weariness brought Don Quixote to a halt, and more
enraged than avenged he sat down on the road to wait until Sancho,
Rocinante and Dapple came up. When they reached him master and man
mounted once more, and without going back to bid farewell to the mock or
imitation Arcadia, and more in humiliation than contentment, they
continued their journey.
CHAPTER LIX.
WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE THING, WHICH MAY BE REGARDED AS AN
ADVENTURE, THAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE
A clear limpid spring which they discovered in a cool grove relieved Don
Quixote and Sancho of the dust and fatigue due to the unpolite behaviour
of the bulls, and by the side of this, having turned Dapple and Rocinante
loose without headstall or bridle, the forlorn pair, master and man,
seated themselves. Sancho had recourse to the larder of his alforjas and
took out of them what he called the prog; Don Quixote rinsed his mouth
and bathed his face, by which cooling process his flagging energies were
revived. Out of pure vexation he remained without eating, and out of pure
politeness Sancho did not venture to touch a morsel of what was before
him, but waited for his master to act as taster. Seeing, however, that,
absorbed in thought, he was forgetting to carry the bread to his mouth,
he said never a word, and trampling every sort of good breeding under
foot, began to stow away in his paunch the bread and cheese that came to
his hand.
"Eat, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote; "support life, which is of
more consequence to thee than to me, and leave me to die under the pain
of my thoughts and pressure of my misfortunes. I was born, Sancho, to
live dying, and thou to die eating; and to prove the truth of what I say,
look at me, printed in histories, famed in arms, courteous in behaviour,
honoured by princes, courted by maidens; and after all, when I looked
forward to palms, triumphs, and crowns, won and earned by my valiant
deeds, I have this morning seen myself trampled on, kicked, and crushed
by the feet of unclean and filthy animals. This thought blunts my teeth,
paralyses my jaws, cramps my hands, and robs me of all appetite for food;
so much so that I have a mind to let myself die of hunger, the cruelest
death of all deaths."
"So then," said Sancho, munching hard all the time, "your worship does
not agree with the proverb that says, 'Let Martha die, but let her die
with a full belly.' I, at any rate, have no mind to kill myself; so far
from that, I mean to do as the cobbler does, who stretches the leather
with his teeth until he makes it reach as far as he wants. I'll stretch
out my life by eating until it reaches the end heaven has fixed for it;
and let me tell you, senor, there's no greater folly than to think of
dying of despair as your worship does; take my advice, and after eating
lie down and sleep a bit on this green grass-mattress, and you will see
that when you awake you'll feel something better."
Don Quixote did as he recommended, for it struck him that Sancho's
reasoning was more like a philosopher's than a blockhead's, and said he,
"Sancho, if thou wilt do for me what I am going to tell thee my ease of
mind would be more assured and my heaviness of heart not so great; and it
is this; to go aside a little while I am sleeping in accordance with thy
advice, and, making bare thy carcase to the air, to give thyself three or
four hundred lashes with Rocinante's reins, on account of the three
thousand and odd thou art to give thyself for the disenchantment of
Dulcinea; for it is a great pity that the poor lady should be left
enchanted through thy carelessness and negligence."
"There is a good deal to be said on that point," said Sancho; "let us
both go to sleep now, and after that, God has decreed what will happen.
Let me tell your worship that for a man to whip himself in cold blood is
a hard thing, especially if the stripes fall upon an ill-nourished and
worse-fed body. Let my lady Dulcinea have patience, and when she is least
expecting it, she will see me made a riddle of with whipping, and 'until
death it's all life;' I mean that I have still life in me, and the desire
to make good what I have promised."
Don Quixote thanked him, and ate a little, and Sancho a good deal, and
then they both lay down to sleep, leaving those two inseparable friends
and comrades, Rocinante and Dapple, to their own devices and to feed
unrestrained upon the abundant grass with which the meadow was furnished.
They woke up rather late, mounted once more and resumed their journey,
pushing on to reach an inn which was in sight, apparently a league off. I
say an inn, because Don Quixote called it so, contrary to his usual
practice of calling all inns castles. They reached it, and asked the
landlord if they could put up there. He said yes, with as much comfort
and as good fare as they could find in Saragossa. They dismounted, and
Sancho stowed away his larder in a room of which the landlord gave him
the key. He took the beasts to the stable, fed them, and came back to see
what orders Don Quixote, who was seated on a bench at the door, had for
him, giving special thanks to heaven that this inn had not been taken for
a castle by his master. Supper-time came, and they repaired to their
room, and Sancho asked the landlord what he had to give them for supper.
To this the landlord replied that his mouth should be the measure; he had
only to ask what he would; for that inn was provided with the birds of
the air and the fowls of the earth and the fish of the sea.
"There's no need of all that," said Sancho; "if they'll roast us a couple
of chickens we'll be satisfied, for my master is delicate and eats
little, and I'm not over and above gluttonous."
The landlord replied he had no chickens, for the kites had stolen them.
"Well then," said Sancho, "let senor landlord tell them to roast a
pullet, so that it is a tender one."
"Pullet! My father!" said the landlord; "indeed and in truth it's only
yesterday I sent over fifty to the city to sell; but saving pullets ask
what you will."
"In that case," said Sancho, "you will not be without veal or kid."
"Just now," said the landlord, "there's none in the house, for it's all
finished; but next week there will be enough and to spare."
"Much good that does us," said Sancho; "I'll lay a bet that all these
short-comings are going to wind up in plenty of bacon and eggs."
"By God," said the landlord, "my guest's wits must be precious dull; I
tell him I have neither pullets nor hens, and he wants me to have eggs!
Talk of other dainties, if you please, and don't ask for hens again."
"Body o' me!" said Sancho, "let's settle the matter; say at once what you
have got, and let us have no more words about it."
"In truth and earnest, senor guest," said the landlord, "all I have is a
couple of cow-heels like calves' feet, or a couple of calves' feet like
cowheels; they are boiled with chick-peas, onions, and bacon, and at this
moment they are crying 'Come eat me, come eat me."
"I mark them for mine on the spot," said Sancho; "let nobody touch them;
I'll pay better for them than anyone else, for I could not wish for
anything more to my taste; and I don't care a pin whether they are feet
or heels."
"Nobody shall touch them," said the landlord; "for the other guests I
have, being persons of high quality, bring their own cook and caterer and
larder with them."
"If you come to people of quality," said Sancho, "there's nobody more so
than my master; but the calling he follows does not allow of larders or
store-rooms; we lay ourselves down in the middle of a meadow, and fill
ourselves with acorns or medlars."
Here ended Sancho's conversation with the landlord, Sancho not caring to
carry it any farther by answering him; for he had already asked him what
calling or what profession it was his master was of.
Supper-time having come, then, Don Quixote betook himself to his room,
the landlord brought in the stew-pan just as it was, and he sat himself
down to sup very resolutely. It seems that in another room, which was
next to Don Quixote's, with nothing but a thin partition to separate it,
he overheard these words, "As you live, Senor Don Jeronimo, while they
are bringing supper, let us read another chapter of the Second Part of
'Don Quixote of La Mancha.'"
The instant Don Quixote heard his own name be started to his feet and
listened with open ears to catch what they said about him, and heard the
Don Jeronimo who had been addressed say in reply, "Why would you have us
read that absurd stuff, Don Juan, when it is impossible for anyone who
has read the First Part of the history of 'Don Quixote of La Mancha' to
take any pleasure in reading this Second Part?"
"For all that," said he who was addressed as Don Juan, "we shall do well
to read it, for there is no book so bad but it has something good in it.
What displeases me most in it is that it represents Don Quixote as now
cured of his love for Dulcinea del Toboso."
On hearing this Don Quixote, full of wrath and indignation, lifted up his
voice and said, "Whoever he may be who says that Don Quixote of La Mancha
has forgotten or can forget Dulcinea del Toboso, I will teach him with
equal arms that what he says is very far from the truth; for neither can
the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso be forgotten, nor can forgetfulness have
a place in Don Quixote; his motto is constancy, and his profession to
maintain the same with his life and never wrong it."
"Who is this that answers us?" said they in the next room.
"Who should it be," said Sancho, "but Don Quixote of La Mancha himself,
who will make good all he has said and all he will say; for pledges don't
trouble a good payer."
Sancho had hardly uttered these words when two gentlemen, for such they
seemed to be, entered the room, and one of them, throwing his arms round
Don Quixote's neck, said to him, "Your appearance cannot leave any
question as to your name, nor can your name fail to identify your
appearance; unquestionably, senor, you are the real Don Quixote of La
Mancha, cynosure and morning star of knight-errantry, despite and in
defiance of him who has sought to usurp your name and bring to naught
your achievements, as the author of this book which I here present to you
has done;" and with this he put a book which his companion carried into
the hands of Don Quixote, who took it, and without replying began to run
his eye over it; but he presently returned it saying, "In the little I
have seen I have discovered three things in this author that deserve to
be censured. The first is some words that I have read in the preface; the
next that the language is Aragonese, for sometimes he writes without
articles; and the third, which above all stamps him as ignorant, is that
he goes wrong and departs from the truth in the most important part of
the history, for here he says that my squire Sancho Panza's wife is
called Mari Gutierrez, when she is called nothing of the sort, but Teresa
Panza; and when a man errs on such an important point as this there is
good reason to fear that he is in error on every other point in the
history."
"A nice sort of historian, indeed!" exclaimed Sancho at this; "he must
know a deal about our affairs when he calls my wife Teresa Panza, Mari
Gutierrez; take the book again, senor, and see if I am in it and if he
has changed my name."
"From your talk, friend," said Don Jeronimo, "no doubt you are Sancho
Panza, Senor Don Quixote's squire."
"Yes, I am," said Sancho; "and I'm proud of it."
"Faith, then," said the gentleman, "this new author does not handle you
with the decency that displays itself in your person; he makes you out a
heavy feeder and a fool, and not in the least droll, and a very different
being from the Sancho described in the First Part of your master's
history."
"God forgive him," said Sancho; "he might have left me in my corner
without troubling his head about me; 'let him who knows how ring the
bells; 'Saint Peter is very well in Rome.'"
The two gentlemen pressed Don Quixote to come into their room and have
supper with them, as they knew very well there was nothing in that inn
fit for one of his sort. Don Quixote, who was always polite, yielded to
their request and supped with them. Sancho stayed behind with the stew.
and invested with plenary delegated authority seated himself at the head
of the table, and the landlord sat down with him, for he was no less fond
of cow-heel and calves' feet than Sancho was.
While at supper Don Juan asked Don Quixote what news he had of the lady
Dulcinea del Toboso, was she married, had she been brought to bed, or was
she with child, or did she in maidenhood, still preserving her modesty
and delicacy, cherish the remembrance of the tender passion of Senor Don
Quixote?
To this he replied, "Dulcinea is a maiden still, and my passion more
firmly rooted than ever, our intercourse unsatisfactory as before, and
her beauty transformed into that of a foul country wench;" and then he
proceeded to give them a full and particular account of the enchantment
of Dulcinea, and of what had happened him in the cave of Montesinos,
together with what the sage Merlin had prescribed for her disenchantment,
namely the scourging of Sancho.
Exceedingly great was the amusement the two gentlemen derived from
hearing Don Quixote recount the strange incidents of his history; and if
they were amazed by his absurdities they were equally amazed by the
elegant style in which he delivered them. On the one hand they regarded
him as a man of wit and sense, and on the other he seemed to them a
maundering blockhead, and they could not make up their minds whereabouts
between wisdom and folly they ought to place him.
Sancho having finished his supper, and left the landlord in the X
condition, repaired to the room where his master was, and as he came in
said, "May I die, sirs, if the author of this book your worships have got
has any mind that we should agree; as he calls me glutton (according to
what your worships say) I wish he may not call me drunkard too."
"But he does," said Don Jeronimo; "I cannot remember, however, in what
way, though I know his words are offensive, and what is more, lying, as I
can see plainly by the physiognomy of the worthy Sancho before me."
"Believe me," said Sancho, "the Sancho and the Don Quixote of this
history must be different persons from those that appear in the one Cide
Hamete Benengeli wrote, who are ourselves; my master valiant, wise, and
true in love, and I simple, droll, and neither glutton nor drunkard."
"I believe it," said Don Juan; "and were it possible, an order should be
issued that no one should have the presumption to deal with anything
relating to Don Quixote, save his original author Cide Hamete; just as
Alexander commanded that no one should presume to paint his portrait save
Apelles."
"Let him who will paint me," said Don Quixote; "but let him not abuse me;
for patience will often break down when they heap insults upon it."
"None can be offered to Senor Don Quixote," said Don Juan, "that he
himself will not be able to avenge, if he does not ward it off with the
shield of his patience, which, I take it, is great and strong."
A considerable portion of the night passed in conversation of this sort,
and though Don Juan wished Don Quixote to read more of the book to see
what it was all about, he was not to be prevailed upon, saying that he
treated it as read and pronounced it utterly silly; and, if by any chance
it should come to its author's ears that he had it in his hand, he did
not want him to flatter himself with the idea that he had read it; for
our thoughts, and still more our eyes, should keep themselves aloof from
what is obscene and filthy.