The History of Don Quixote, Volume II., Complete - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
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But all the while the Morisco Christian was telling her strange story, an
elderly pilgrim, who had come on board of the galley at the same time as
the viceroy, kept his eyes fixed upon her; and the instant she ceased
speaking he threw himself at her feet, and embracing them said in a voice
broken by sobs and sighs, "O Ana Felix, my unhappy daughter, I am thy
father Ricote, come back to look for thee, unable to live without thee,
my soul that thou art!"
At these words of his, Sancho opened his eyes and raised his head, which
he had been holding down, brooding over his unlucky excursion; and
looking at the pilgrim he recognised in him that same Ricote he met the
day he quitted his government, and felt satisfied that this was his
daughter. She being now unbound embraced her father, mingling her tears
with his, while he addressing the general and the viceroy said, "This,
sirs, is my daughter, more unhappy in her adventures than in her name.
She is Ana Felix, surnamed Ricote, celebrated as much for her own beauty
as for my wealth. I quitted my native land in search of some shelter or
refuge for us abroad, and having found one in Germany I returned in this
pilgrim's dress, in the company of some other German pilgrims, to seek my
daughter and take up a large quantity of treasure I had left buried. My
daughter I did not find, the treasure I found and have with me; and now,
in this strange roundabout way you have seen, I find the treasure that
more than all makes me rich, my beloved daughter. If our innocence and
her tears and mine can with strict justice open the door to clemency,
extend it to us, for we never had any intention of injuring you, nor do
we sympathise with the aims of our people, who have been justly
banished."
"I know Ricote well," said Sancho at this, "and I know too that what he
says about Ana Felix being his daughter is true; but as to those other
particulars about going and coming, and having good or bad intentions, I
say nothing."
While all present stood amazed at this strange occurrence the general
said, "At any rate your tears will not allow me to keep my oath; live,
fair Ana Felix, all the years that heaven has allotted you; but these
rash insolent fellows must pay the penalty of the crime they have
committed;" and with that he gave orders to have the two Turks who had
killed his two soldiers hanged at once at the yard-arm. The viceroy,
however, begged him earnestly not to hang them, as their behaviour
savoured rather of madness than of bravado. The general yielded to the
viceroy's request, for revenge is not easily taken in cold blood. They
then tried to devise some scheme for rescuing Don Gaspar Gregorio from
the danger in which he had been left. Ricote offered for that object more
than two thousand ducats that he had in pearls and gems; they proposed
several plans, but none so good as that suggested by the renegade already
mentioned, who offered to return to Algiers in a small vessel of about
six banks, manned by Christian rowers, as he knew where, how, and when he
could and should land, nor was he ignorant of the house in which Don
Gaspar was staying. The general and the viceroy had some hesitation about
placing confidence in the renegade and entrusting him with the Christians
who were to row, but Ana Felix said she could answer for him, and her
father offered to go and pay the ransom of the Christians if by any
chance they should not be forthcoming. This, then, being agreed upon, the
viceroy landed, and Don Antonio Moreno took the fair Morisco and her
father home with him, the viceroy charging him to give them the best
reception and welcome in his power, while on his own part he offered all
that house contained for their entertainment; so great was the good-will
and kindliness the beauty of Ana Felix had infused into his heart.
CHAPTER LXIV.
TREATING OF THE ADVENTURE WHICH GAVE DON QUIXOTE MORE UNHAPPINESS THAN
ALL THAT HAD HITHERTO BEFALLEN HIM
The wife of Don Antonio Moreno, so the history says, was extremely happy
to see Ana Felix in her house. She welcomed her with great kindness,
charmed as well by her beauty as by her intelligence; for in both
respects the fair Morisco was richly endowed, and all the people of the
city flocked to see her as though they had been summoned by the ringing
of the bells.
Don Quixote told Don Antonio that the plan adopted for releasing Don
Gregorio was not a good one, for its risks were greater than its
advantages, and that it would be better to land himself with his arms and
horse in Barbary; for he would carry him off in spite of the whole
Moorish host, as Don Gaiferos carried off his wife Melisendra.
"Remember, your worship," observed Sancho on hearing him say so, "Senor
Don Gaiferos carried off his wife from the mainland, and took her to
France by land; but in this case, if by chance we carry off Don Gregorio,
we have no way of bringing him to Spain, for there's the sea between."
"There's a remedy for everything except death," said Don Quixote; "if
they bring the vessel close to the shore we shall be able to get on board
though all the world strive to prevent us."
"Your worship hits it off mighty well and mighty easy," said Sancho; "but
'it's a long step from saying to doing;' and I hold to the renegade, for
he seems to me an honest good-hearted fellow."
Don Antonio then said that if the renegade did not prove successful, the
expedient of the great Don Quixote's expedition to Barbary should be
adopted. Two days afterwards the renegade put to sea in a light vessel of
six oars a-side manned by a stout crew, and two days later the galleys
made sail eastward, the general having begged the viceroy to let him know
all about the release of Don Gregorio and about Ana Felix, and the
viceroy promised to do as he requested.
One morning as Don Quixote went out for a stroll along the beach, arrayed
in full armour (for, as he often said, that was "his only gear, his only
rest the fray," and he never was without it for a moment), he saw coming
towards him a knight, also in full armour, with a shining moon painted on
his shield, who, on approaching sufficiently near to be heard, said in a
loud voice, addressing himself to Don Quixote, "Illustrious knight, and
never sufficiently extolled Don Quixote of La Mancha, I am the Knight of
the White Moon, whose unheard-of achievements will perhaps have recalled
him to thy memory. I come to do battle with thee and prove the might of
thy arm, to the end that I make thee acknowledge and confess that my
lady, let her be who she may, is incomparably fairer than thy Dulcinea
del Toboso. If thou dost acknowledge this fairly and openly, thou shalt
escape death and save me the trouble of inflicting it upon thee; if thou
fightest and I vanquish thee, I demand no other satisfaction than that,
laying aside arms and abstaining from going in quest of adventures, thou
withdraw and betake thyself to thine own village for the space of a year,
and live there without putting hand to sword, in peace and quiet and
beneficial repose, the same being needful for the increase of thy
substance and the salvation of thy soul; and if thou dost vanquish me, my
head shall be at thy disposal, my arms and horse thy spoils, and the
renown of my deeds transferred and added to thine. Consider which will be
thy best course, and give me thy answer speedily, for this day is all the
time I have for the despatch of this business."
Don Quixote was amazed and astonished, as well at the Knight of the White
Moon's arrogance, as at his reason for delivering the defiance, and with
calm dignity he answered him, "Knight of the White Moon, of whose
achievements I have never heard until now, I will venture to swear you
have never seen the illustrious Dulcinea; for had you seen her I know you
would have taken care not to venture yourself upon this issue, because
the sight would have removed all doubt from your mind that there ever has
been or can be a beauty to be compared with hers; and so, not saying you
lie, but merely that you are not correct in what you state, I accept your
challenge, with the conditions you have proposed, and at once, that the
day you have fixed may not expire; and from your conditions I except only
that of the renown of your achievements being transferred to me, for I
know not of what sort they are nor what they may amount to; I am
satisfied with my own, such as they be. Take, therefore, the side of the
field you choose, and I will do the same; and to whom God shall give it
may Saint Peter add his blessing."
The Knight of the White Moon had been seen from the city, and it was told
the viceroy how he was in conversation with Don Quixote. The viceroy,
fancying it must be some fresh adventure got up by Don Antonio Moreno or
some other gentleman of the city, hurried out at once to the beach
accompanied by Don Antonio and several other gentlemen, just as Don
Quixote was wheeling Rocinante round in order to take up the necessary
distance. The viceroy upon this, seeing that the pair of them were
evidently preparing to come to the charge, put himself between them,
asking them what it was that led them to engage in combat all of a sudden
in this way. The Knight of the White Moon replied that it was a question
of precedence of beauty; and briefly told him what he had said to Don
Quixote, and how the conditions of the defiance agreed upon on both sides
had been accepted. The viceroy went over to Don Antonio, and asked in a
low voice did he know who the Knight of the White Moon was, or was it
some joke they were playing on Don Quixote. Don Antonio replied that he
neither knew who he was nor whether the defiance was in joke or in
earnest. This answer left the viceroy in a state of perplexity, not
knowing whether he ought to let the combat go on or not; but unable to
persuade himself that it was anything but a joke he fell back, saying,
"If there be no other way out of it, gallant knights, except to confess
or die, and Don Quixote is inflexible, and your worship of the White Moon
still more so, in God's hand be it, and fall on."
He of the White Moon thanked the viceroy in courteous and well-chosen
words for the permission he gave them, and so did Don Quixote, who then,
commending himself with all his heart to heaven and to his Dulcinea, as
was his custom on the eve of any combat that awaited him, proceeded to
take a little more distance, as he saw his antagonist was doing the same;
then, without blast of trumpet or other warlike instrument to give them
the signal to charge, both at the same instant wheeled their horses; and
he of the White Moon, being the swifter, met Don Quixote after having
traversed two-thirds of the course, and there encountered him with such
violence that, without touching him with his lance (for he held it high,
to all appearance purposely), he hurled Don Quixote and Rocinante to the
earth, a perilous fall. He sprang upon him at once, and placing the lance
over his visor said to him, "You are vanquished, sir knight, nay dead
unless you admit the conditions of our defiance."
Don Quixote, bruised and stupefied, without raising his visor said in a
weak feeble voice as if he were speaking out of a tomb, "Dulcinea del
Toboso is the fairest woman in the world, and I the most unfortunate
knight on earth; it is not fitting that this truth should suffer by my
feebleness; drive your lance home, sir knight, and take my life, since
you have taken away my honour."
"That will I not, in sooth," said he of the White Moon; "live the fame of
the lady Dulcinea's beauty undimmed as ever; all I require is that the
great Don Quixote retire to his own home for a year, or for so long a
time as shall by me be enjoined upon him, as we agreed before engaging in
this combat."
The viceroy, Don Antonio, and several others who were present heard all
this, and heard too how Don Quixote replied that so long as nothing in
prejudice of Dulcinea was demanded of him, he would observe all the rest
like a true and loyal knight. The engagement given, he of the White Moon
wheeled about, and making obeisance to the viceroy with a movement of the
head, rode away into the city at a half gallop. The viceroy bade Don
Antonio hasten after him, and by some means or other find out who he was.
They raised Don Quixote up and uncovered his face, and found him pale and
bathed with sweat.
Rocinante from the mere hard measure he had received lay unable to stir
for the present. Sancho, wholly dejected and woebegone, knew not what to
say or do. He fancied that all was a dream, that the whole business was a
piece of enchantment. Here was his master defeated, and bound not to take
up arms for a year. He saw the light of the glory of his achievements
obscured; the hopes of the promises lately made him swept away like smoke
before the wind; Rocinante, he feared, was crippled for life, and his
master's bones out of joint; for if he were only shaken out of his
madness it would be no small luck. In the end they carried him into the
city in a hand-chair which the viceroy sent for, and thither the viceroy
himself returned, cager to ascertain who this Knight of the White Moon
was who had left Don Quixote in such a sad plight.
CHAPTER LXV.
WHEREIN IS MADE KNOWN WHO THE KNIGHT OF THE WHITE MOON WAS; LIKEWISE DON
GREGORIO'S RELEASE, AND OTHER EVENTS
Don Antonia Moreno followed the Knight of the White Moon, and a number of
boys followed him too, nay pursued him, until they had him fairly housed
in a hostel in the heart of the city. Don Antonio, eager to make his
acquaintance, entered also; a squire came out to meet him and remove his
armour, and he shut himself into a lower room, still attended by Don
Antonio, whose bread would not bake until he had found out who he was. He
of the White Moon, seeing then that the gentleman would not leave him,
said, "I know very well, senor, what you have come for; it is to find out
who I am; and as there is no reason why I should conceal it from you,
while my servant here is taking off my armour I will tell you the true
state of the case, without leaving out anything. You must know, senor,
that I am called the bachelor Samson Carrasco. I am of the same village
as Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose craze and folly make all of us who
know him feel pity for him, and I am one of those who have felt it most;
and persuaded that his chance of recovery lay in quiet and keeping at
home and in his own house, I hit upon a device for keeping him there.
Three months ago, therefore, I went out to meet him as a knight-errant,
under the assumed name of the Knight of the Mirrors, intending to engage
him in combat and overcome him without hurting him, making it the
condition of our combat that the vanquished should be at the disposal of
the victor. What I meant to demand of him (for I regarded him as
vanquished already) was that he should return to his own village, and not
leave it for a whole year, by which time he might be cured. But fate
ordered it otherwise, for he vanquished me and unhorsed me, and so my
plan failed. He went his way, and I came back conquered, covered with
shame, and sorely bruised by my fall, which was a particularly dangerous
one. But this did not quench my desire to meet him again and overcome
him, as you have seen to-day. And as he is so scrupulous in his
observance of the laws of knight-errantry, he will, no doubt, in order to
keep his word, obey the injunction I have laid upon him. This, senor, is
how the matter stands, and I have nothing more to tell you. I implore of
you not to betray me, or tell Don Quixote who I am; so that my honest
endeavours may be successful, and that a man of excellent wits--were he
only rid of the fooleries of chivalry--may get them back again."
"O senor," said Don Antonio, "may God forgive you the wrong you have done
the whole world in trying to bring the most amusing madman in it back to
his senses. Do you not see, senor, that the gain by Don Quixote's sanity
can never equal the enjoyment his crazes give? But my belief is that all
the senor bachelor's pains will be of no avail to bring a man so
hopelessly cracked to his senses again; and if it were not uncharitable,
I would say may Don Quixote never be cured, for by his recovery we lose
not only his own drolleries, but his squire Sancho Panza's too, any one
of which is enough to turn melancholy itself into merriment. However,
I'll hold my peace and say nothing to him, and we'll see whether I am
right in my suspicion that Senor Carrasco's efforts will be fruitless."
The bachelor replied that at all events the affair promised well, and he
hoped for a happy result from it; and putting his services at Don
Antonio's commands he took his leave of him; and having had his armour
packed at once upon a mule, he rode away from the city the same day on
the horse he rode to battle, and returned to his own country without
meeting any adventure calling for record in this veracious history.
Don Antonio reported to the viceroy what Carrasco told him, and the
viceroy was not very well pleased to hear it, for with Don Quixote's
retirement there was an end to the amusement of all who knew anything of
his mad doings.
Six days did Don Quixote keep his bed, dejected, melancholy, moody and
out of sorts, brooding over the unhappy event of his defeat. Sancho
strove to comfort him, and among other things he said to him, "Hold up
your head, senor, and be of good cheer if you can, and give thanks to
heaven that if you have had a tumble to the ground you have not come off
with a broken rib; and, as you know that 'where they give they take,' and
that 'there are not always fletches where there are pegs,' a fig for the
doctor, for there's no need of him to cure this ailment. Let us go home,
and give over going about in search of adventures in strange lands and
places; rightly looked at, it is I that am the greater loser, though it
is your worship that has had the worse usage. With the government I gave
up all wish to be a governor again, but I did not give up all longing to
be a count; and that will never come to pass if your worship gives up
becoming a king by renouncing the calling of chivalry; and so my hopes
are going to turn into smoke."
"Peace, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "thou seest my suspension and
retirement is not to exceed a year; I shall soon return to my honoured
calling, and I shall not be at a loss for a kingdom to win and a county
to bestow on thee."
"May God hear it and sin be deaf," said Sancho; "I have always heard say
that 'a good hope is better than a bad holding."
As they were talking Don Antonio came in looking extremely pleased and
exclaiming, "Reward me for my good news, Senor Don Quixote! Don Gregorio
and the renegade who went for him have come ashore--ashore do I say? They
are by this time in the viceroy's house, and will be here immediately."
Don Quixote cheered up a little and said, "Of a truth I am almost ready
to say I should have been glad had it turned out just the other way, for
it would have obliged me to cross over to Barbary, where by the might of
my arm I should have restored to liberty, not only Don Gregorio, but all
the Christian captives there are in Barbary. But what am I saying,
miserable being that I am? Am I not he that has been conquered? Am I not
he that has been overthrown? Am I not he who must not take up arms for a
year? Then what am I making professions for; what am I bragging about;
when it is fitter for me to handle the distaff than the sword?"
"No more of that, senor," said Sancho; "'let the hen live, even though it
be with her pip; 'today for thee and to-morrow for me;' in these affairs
of encounters and whacks one must not mind them, for he that falls to-day
may get up to-morrow; unless indeed he chooses to lie in bed, I mean
gives way to weakness and does not pluck up fresh spirit for fresh
battles; let your worship get up now to receive Don Gregorio; for the
household seems to be in a bustle, and no doubt he has come by this
time;" and so it proved, for as soon as Don Gregorio and the renegade had
given the viceroy an account of the voyage out and home, Don Gregorio,
eager to see Ana Felix, came with the renegade to Don Antonio's house.
When they carried him away from Algiers he was in woman's dress; on board
the vessel, however, he exchanged it for that of a captive who escaped
with him; but in whatever dress he might be he looked like one to be
loved and served and esteemed, for he was surpassingly well-favoured, and
to judge by appearances some seventeen or eighteen years of age. Ricote
and his daughter came out to welcome him, the father with tears, the
daughter with bashfulness. They did not embrace each other, for where
there is deep love there will never be overmuch boldness. Seen side by
side, the comeliness of Don Gregorio and the beauty of Ana Felix were the
admiration of all who were present. It was silence that spoke for the
lovers at that moment, and their eyes were the tongues that declared
their pure and happy feelings. The renegade explained the measures and
means he had adopted to rescue Don Gregorio, and Don Gregorio at no great
length, but in a few words, in which he showed that his intelligence was
in advance of his years, described the peril and embarrassment he found
himself in among the women with whom he had sojourned. To conclude,
Ricote liberally recompensed and rewarded as well the renegade as the men
who had rowed; and the renegade effected his readmission into the body of
the Church and was reconciled with it, and from a rotten limb became by
penance and repentance a clean and sound one.
Two days later the viceroy discussed with Don Antonio the steps they
should take to enable Ana Felix and her father to stay in Spain, for it
seemed to them there could be no objection to a daughter who was so good
a Christian and a father to all appearance so well disposed remaining
there. Don Antonio offered to arrange the matter at the capital, whither
he was compelled to go on some other business, hinting that many a
difficult affair was settled there with the help of favour and bribes.
"Nay," said Ricote, who was present during the conversation, "it will not
do to rely upon favour or bribes, because with the great Don Bernardino
de Velasco, Conde de Salazar, to whom his Majesty has entrusted our
expulsion, neither entreaties nor promises, bribes nor appeals to
compassion, are of any use; for though it is true he mingles mercy with
justice, still, seeing that the whole body of our nation is tainted and
corrupt, he applies to it the cautery that burns rather than the salve
that soothes; and thus, by prudence, sagacity, care and the fear he
inspires, he has borne on his mighty shoulders the weight of this great
policy and carried it into effect, all our schemes and plots,
importunities and wiles, being ineffectual to blind his Argus eyes, ever
on the watch lest one of us should remain behind in concealment, and like
a hidden root come in course of time to sprout and bear poisonous fruit
in Spain, now cleansed, and relieved of the fear in which our vast
numbers kept it. Heroic resolve of the great Philip the Third, and
unparalleled wisdom to have entrusted it to the said Don Bernardino de
Velasco!"
"At any rate," said Don Antonio, "when I am there I will make all
possible efforts, and let heaven do as pleases it best; Don Gregorio will
come with me to relieve the anxiety which his parents must be suffering
on account of his absence; Ana Felix will remain in my house with my
wife, or in a monastery; and I know the viceroy will be glad that the
worthy Ricote should stay with him until we see what terms I can make."
The viceroy agreed to all that was proposed; but Don Gregorio on learning
what had passed declared he could not and would not on any account leave
Ana Felix; however, as it was his purpose to go and see his parents and
devise some way of returning for her, he fell in with the proposed
arrangement. Ana Felix remained with Don Antonio's wife, and Ricote in
the viceroy's house.
The day for Don Antonio's departure came; and two days later that for Don
Quixote's and Sancho's, for Don Quixote's fall did not suffer him to take
the road sooner. There were tears and sighs, swoonings and sobs, at the
parting between Don Gregorio and Ana Felix. Ricote offered Don Gregorio a
thousand crowns if he would have them, but he would not take any save
five which Don Antonio lent him and he promised to repay at the capital.
So the two of them took their departure, and Don Quixote and Sancho
afterwards, as has been already said, Don Quixote without his armour and
in travelling gear, and Sancho on foot, Dapple being loaded with the
armour.
CHAPTER LXVI.
WHICH TREATS OF WHAT HE WHO READS WILL SEE, OR WHAT HE WHO HAS IT READ TO
HIM WILL HEAR
As he left Barcelona, Don Quixote turned gaze upon the spot where he had
fallen. "Here Troy was," said he; "here my ill-luck, not my cowardice,
robbed me of all the glory I had won; here Fortune made me the victim of
her caprices; here the lustre of my achievements was dimmed; here, in a
word, fell my happiness never to rise again."