The History of Don Quixote, Volume II., Complete - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
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Sancho got up as well as he could and begged his master to give him his
sword, saying he wanted to kill half a dozen of those dirty unmannerly
pigs, for he had by this time found out that that was what they were.
"Let them be, my friend," said Don Quixote; "this insult is the penalty
of my sin; and it is the righteous chastisement of heaven that jackals
should devour a vanquished knight, and wasps sting him and pigs trample
him under foot."
"I suppose it is the chastisement of heaven, too," said Sancho, "that
flies should prick the squires of vanquished knights, and lice eat them,
and hunger assail them. If we squires were the sons of the knights we
serve, or their very near relations, it would be no wonder if the penalty
of their misdeeds overtook us, even to the fourth generation. But what
have the Panzas to do with the Quixotes? Well, well, let's lie down again
and sleep out what little of the night there's left, and God will send us
dawn and we shall be all right."
"Sleep thou, Sancho," returned Don Quixote, "for thou wast born to sleep
as I was born to watch; and during the time it now wants of dawn I will
give a loose rein to my thoughts, and seek a vent for them in a little
madrigal which, unknown to thee, I composed in my head last night."
"I should think," said Sancho, "that the thoughts that allow one to make
verses cannot be of great consequence; let your worship string verses as
much as you like and I'll sleep as much as I can;" and forthwith, taking
the space of ground he required, he muffled himself up and fell into a
sound sleep, undisturbed by bond, debt, or trouble of any sort. Don
Quixote, propped up against the trunk of a beech or a cork tree--for Cide
Hamete does not specify what kind of tree it was--sang in this strain to
the accompaniment of his own sighs:
When in my mind
I muse, O Love, upon thy cruelty,
To death I flee,
In hope therein the end of all to find.
But drawing near
That welcome haven in my sea of woe,
Such joy I know,
That life revives, and still I linger here.
Thus life doth slay,
And death again to life restoreth me;
Strange destiny,
That deals with life and death as with a play!
He accompanied each verse with many sighs and not a few tears, just like
one whose heart was pierced with grief at his defeat and his separation
from Dulcinea.
And now daylight came, and the sun smote Sancho on the eyes with his
beams. He awoke, roused himself up, shook himself and stretched his lazy
limbs, and seeing the havoc the pigs had made with his stores he cursed
the drove, and more besides. Then the pair resumed their journey, and as
evening closed in they saw coming towards them some ten men on horseback
and four or five on foot. Don Quixote's heart beat quick and Sancho's
quailed with fear, for the persons approaching them carried lances and
bucklers, and were in very warlike guise. Don Quixote turned to Sancho
and said, "If I could make use of my weapons, and my promise had not tied
my hands, I would count this host that comes against us but cakes and
fancy bread; but perhaps it may prove something different from what we
apprehend." The men on horseback now came up, and raising their lances
surrounded Don Quixote in silence, and pointed them at his back and
breast, menacing him with death. One of those on foot, putting his finger
to his lips as a sign to him to be silent, seized Rocinante's bridle and
drew him out of the road, and the others driving Sancho and Dapple before
them, and all maintaining a strange silence, followed in the steps of the
one who led Don Quixote. The latter two or three times attempted to ask
where they were taking him to and what they wanted, but the instant he
began to open his lips they threatened to close them with the points of
their lances; and Sancho fared the same way, for the moment he seemed
about to speak one of those on foot punched him with a goad, and Dapple
likewise, as if he too wanted to talk. Night set in, they quickened their
pace, and the fears of the two prisoners grew greater, especially as they
heard themselves assailed with--"Get on, ye Troglodytes;" "Silence, ye
barbarians;" "March, ye cannibals;" "No murmuring, ye Scythians;" "Don't
open your eyes, ye murderous Polyphemes, ye blood-thirsty lions," and
suchlike names with which their captors harassed the ears of the wretched
master and man. Sancho went along saying to himself, "We, tortolites,
barbers, animals! I don't like those names at all; 'it's in a bad wind
our corn is being winnowed;' 'misfortune comes upon us all at once like
sticks on a dog,' and God grant it may be no worse than them that this
unlucky adventure has in store for us."
Don Quixote rode completely dazed, unable with the aid of all his wits to
make out what could be the meaning of these abusive names they called
them, and the only conclusion he could arrive at was that there was no
good to be hoped for and much evil to be feared. And now, about an hour
after midnight, they reached a castle which Don Quixote saw at once was
the duke's, where they had been but a short time before. "God bless me!"
said he, as he recognised the mansion, "what does this mean? It is all
courtesy and politeness in this house; but with the vanquished good turns
into evil, and evil into worse."
They entered the chief court of the castle and found it prepared and
fitted up in a style that added to their amazement and doubled their
fears, as will be seen in the following chapter.
CHAPTER LXIX.
OF THE STRANGEST AND MOST EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE
IN THE WHOLE COURSE OF THIS GREAT HISTORY
The horsemen dismounted, and, together with the men on foot, without a
moment's delay taking up Sancho and Don Quixote bodily, they carried them
into the court, all round which near a hundred torches fixed in sockets
were burning, besides above five hundred lamps in the corridors, so that
in spite of the night, which was somewhat dark, the want of daylight
could not be perceived. In the middle of the court was a catafalque,
raised about two yards above the ground and covered completely by an
immense canopy of black velvet, and on the steps all round it white wax
tapers burned in more than a hundred silver candlesticks. Upon the
catafalque was seen the dead body of a damsel so lovely that by her
beauty she made death itself look beautiful. She lay with her head
resting upon a cushion of brocade and crowned with a garland of
sweet-smelling flowers of divers sorts, her hands crossed upon her bosom,
and between them a branch of yellow palm of victory. On one side of the
court was erected a stage, where upon two chairs were seated two persons
who from having crowns on their heads and sceptres in their hands
appeared to be kings of some sort, whether real or mock ones. By the side
of this stage, which was reached by steps, were two other chairs on which
the men carrying the prisoners seated Don Quixote and Sancho, all in
silence, and by signs giving them to understand that they too were to be
silent; which, however, they would have been without any signs, for their
amazement at all they saw held them tongue-tied. And now two persons of
distinction, who were at once recognised by Don Quixote as his hosts the
duke and duchess, ascended the stage attended by a numerous suite, and
seated themselves on two gorgeous chairs close to the two kings, as they
seemed to be. Who would not have been amazed at this? Nor was this all,
for Don Quixote had perceived that the dead body on the catafalque was
that of the fair Altisidora. As the duke and duchess mounted the stage
Don Quixote and Sancho rose and made them a profound obeisance, which
they returned by bowing their heads slightly. At this moment an official
crossed over, and approaching Sancho threw over him a robe of black
buckram painted all over with flames of fire, and taking off his cap put
upon his head a mitre such as those undergoing the sentence of the Holy
Office wear; and whispered in his ear that he must not open his lips, or
they would put a gag upon him, or take his life. Sancho surveyed himself
from head to foot and saw himself all ablaze with flames; but as they did
not burn him, he did not care two farthings for them. He took off the
mitre and seeing painted with devils he put it on again, saying to
himself, "Well, so far those don't burn me nor do these carry me off."
Don Quixote surveyed him too, and though fear had got the better of his
faculties, he could not help smiling to see the figure Sancho presented.
And now from underneath the catafalque, so it seemed, there rose a low
sweet sound of flutes, which, coming unbroken by human voice (for there
silence itself kept silence), had a soft and languishing effect. Then,
beside the pillow of what seemed to be the dead body, suddenly appeared a
fair youth in a Roman habit, who, to the accompaniment of a harp which he
himself played, sang in a sweet and clear voice these two stanzas:
While fair Altisidora, who the sport
Of cold Don Quixote's cruelty hath been,
Returns to life, and in this magic court
The dames in sables come to grace the scene,
And while her matrons all in seemly sort
My lady robes in baize and bombazine,
Her beauty and her sorrows will I sing
With defter quill than touched the Thracian string.
But not in life alone, methinks, to me
Belongs the office; Lady, when my tongue
Is cold in death, believe me, unto thee
My voice shall raise its tributary song.
My soul, from this strait prison-house set free,
As o'er the Stygian lake it floats along,
Thy praises singing still shall hold its way,
And make the waters of oblivion stay.
At this point one of the two that looked like kings exclaimed, "Enough,
enough, divine singer! It would be an endless task to put before us now
the death and the charms of the peerless Altisidora, not dead as the
ignorant world imagines, but living in the voice of fame and in the
penance which Sancho Panza, here present, has to undergo to restore her
to the long-lost light. Do thou, therefore, O Rhadamanthus, who sittest
in judgment with me in the murky caverns of Dis, as thou knowest all that
the inscrutable fates have decreed touching the resuscitation of this
damsel, announce and declare it at once, that the happiness we look
forward to from her restoration be no longer deferred."
No sooner had Minos the fellow judge of Rhadamanthus said this, than
Rhadamanthus rising up said:
"Ho, officials of this house, high and low, great and small, make haste
hither one and all, and print on Sancho's face four-and-twenty smacks,
and give him twelve pinches and six pin thrusts in the back and arms; for
upon this ceremony depends the restoration of Altisidora."
On hearing this Sancho broke silence and cried out, "By all that's good,
I'll as soon let my face be smacked or handled as turn Moor. Body o' me!
What has handling my face got to do with the resurrection of this damsel?
'The old woman took kindly to the blits; they enchant Dulcinea, and whip
me in order to disenchant her; Altisidora dies of ailments God was
pleased to send her, and to bring her to life again they must give me
four-and-twenty smacks, and prick holes in my body with pins, and raise
weals on my arms with pinches! Try those jokes on a brother-in-law; 'I'm
an old dog, and "tus, tus" is no use with me.'"
"Thou shalt die," said Rhadamanthus in a loud voice; "relent, thou tiger;
humble thyself, proud Nimrod; suffer and be silent, for no
impossibilities are asked of thee; it is not for thee to inquire into the
difficulties in this matter; smacked thou must be, pricked thou shalt see
thyself, and with pinches thou must be made to howl. Ho, I say,
officials, obey my orders; or by the word of an honest man, ye shall see
what ye were born for."
At this some six duennas, advancing across the court, made their
appearance in procession, one after the other, four of them with
spectacles, and all with their right hands uplifted, showing four fingers
of wrist to make their hands look longer, as is the fashion now-a-days.
No sooner had Sancho caught sight of them than, bellowing like a bull, he
exclaimed, "I might let myself be handled by all the world; but allow
duennas to touch me--not a bit of it! Scratch my face, as my master was
served in this very castle; run me through the body with burnished
daggers; pinch my arms with red-hot pincers; I'll bear all in patience to
serve these gentlefolk; but I won't let duennas touch me, though the
devil should carry me off!"
Here Don Quixote, too, broke silence, saying to Sancho, "Have patience,
my son, and gratify these noble persons, and give all thanks to heaven
that it has infused such virtue into thy person, that by its sufferings
thou canst disenchant the enchanted and restore to life the dead."
The duennas were now close to Sancho, and he, having become more
tractable and reasonable, settling himself well in his chair presented
his face and beard to the first, who delivered him a smack very stoutly
laid on, and then made him a low curtsey.
"Less politeness and less paint, senora duenna," said Sancho; "by God
your hands smell of vinegar-wash."
In fine, all the duennas smacked him and several others of the household
pinched him; but what he could not stand was being pricked by the pins;
and so, apparently out of patience, he started up out of his chair, and
seizing a lighted torch that stood near him fell upon the duennas and the
whole set of his tormentors, exclaiming, "Begone, ye ministers of hell;
I'm not made of brass not to feel such out-of-the-way tortures."
At this instant Altisidora, who probably was tired of having been so long
lying on her back, turned on her side; seeing which the bystanders cried
out almost with one voice, "Altisidora is alive! Altisidora lives!"
Rhadamanthus bade Sancho put away his wrath, as the object they had in
view was now attained. When Don Quixote saw Altisidora move, he went on
his knees to Sancho saying to him, "Now is the time, son of my bowels,
not to call thee my squire, for thee to give thyself some of those lashes
thou art bound to lay on for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. Now, I say,
is the time when the virtue that is in thee is ripe, and endowed with
efficacy to work the good that is looked for from thee."
To which Sancho made answer, "That's trick upon trick, I think, and not
honey upon pancakes; a nice thing it would be for a whipping to come now,
on the top of pinches, smacks, and pin-proddings! You had better take a
big stone and tie it round my neck, and pitch me into a well; I should
not mind it much, if I'm to be always made the cow of the wedding for the
cure of other people's ailments. Leave me alone; or else by God I'll
fling the whole thing to the dogs, let come what may."
Altisidora had by this time sat up on the catafalque, and as she did so
the clarions sounded, accompanied by the flutes, and the voices of all
present exclaiming, "Long life to Altisidora! long life to Altisidora!"
The duke and duchess and the kings Minos and Rhadamanthus stood up, and
all, together with Don Quixote and Sancho, advanced to receive her and
take her down from the catafalque; and she, making as though she were
recovering from a swoon, bowed her head to the duke and duchess and to
the kings, and looking sideways at Don Quixote, said to him, "God forgive
thee, insensible knight, for through thy cruelty I have been, to me it
seems, more than a thousand years in the other world; and to thee, the
most compassionate upon earth, I render thanks for the life I am now in
possession of. From this day forth, friend Sancho, count as thine six
smocks of mine which I bestow upon thee, to make as many shirts for
thyself, and if they are not all quite whole, at any rate they are all
clean."
Sancho kissed her hands in gratitude, kneeling, and with the mitre in his
hand. The duke bade them take it from him, and give him back his cap and
doublet and remove the flaming robe. Sancho begged the duke to let them
leave him the robe and mitre; as he wanted to take them home for a token
and memento of that unexampled adventure. The duchess said they must
leave them with him; for he knew already what a great friend of his she
was. The duke then gave orders that the court should be cleared, and that
all should retire to their chambers, and that Don Quixote and Sancho
should be conducted to their old quarters.
CHAPTER LXX.
WHICH FOLLOWS SIXTY-NINE AND DEALS WITH MATTERS INDISPENSABLE FOR THE
CLEAR COMPREHENSION OF THIS HISTORY
Sancho slept that night in a cot in the same chamber with Don Quixote, a
thing he would have gladly excused if he could for he knew very well that
with questions and answers his master would not let him sleep, and he was
in no humour for talking much, as he still felt the pain of his late
martyrdom, which interfered with his freedom of speech; and it would have
been more to his taste to sleep in a hovel alone, than in that luxurious
chamber in company. And so well founded did his apprehension prove, and
so correct was his anticipation, that scarcely had his master got into
bed when he said, "What dost thou think of tonight's adventure, Sancho?
Great and mighty is the power of cold-hearted scorn, for thou with thine
own eyes hast seen Altisidora slain, not by arrows, nor by the sword, nor
by any warlike weapon, nor by deadly poisons, but by the thought of the
sternness and scorn with which I have always treated her."
"She might have died and welcome," said Sancho, "when she pleased and how
she pleased; and she might have left me alone, for I never made her fall
in love or scorned her. I don't know nor can I imagine how the recovery
of Altisidora, a damsel more fanciful than wise, can have, as I have said
before, anything to do with the sufferings of Sancho Panza. Now I begin
to see plainly and clearly that there are enchanters and enchanted people
in the world; and may God deliver me from them, since I can't deliver
myself; and so I beg of your worship to let me sleep and not ask me any
more questions, unless you want me to throw myself out of the window."
"Sleep, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote, "if the pinprodding and
pinches thou hast received and the smacks administered to thee will let
thee."
"No pain came up to the insult of the smacks," said Sancho, "for the
simple reason that it was duennas, confound them, that gave them to me;
but once more I entreat your worship to let me sleep, for sleep is relief
from misery to those who are miserable when awake."
"Be it so, and God be with thee," said Don Quixote.
They fell asleep, both of them, and Cide Hamete, the author of this great
history, took this opportunity to record and relate what it was that
induced the duke and duchess to get up the elaborate plot that has been
described. The bachelor Samson Carrasco, he says, not forgetting how he
as the Knight of the Mirrors had been vanquished and overthrown by Don
Quixote, which defeat and overthrow upset all his plans, resolved to try
his hand again, hoping for better luck than he had before; and so, having
learned where Don Quixote was from the page who brought the letter and
present to Sancho's wife, Teresa Panza, he got himself new armour and
another horse, and put a white moon upon his shield, and to carry his
arms he had a mule led by a peasant, not by Tom Cecial his former squire
for fear he should be recognised by Sancho or Don Quixote. He came to the
duke's castle, and the duke informed him of the road and route Don
Quixote had taken with the intention of being present at the jousts at
Saragossa. He told him, too, of the jokes he had practised upon him, and
of the device for the disenchantment of Dulcinea at the expense of
Sancho's backside; and finally he gave him an account of the trick Sancho
had played upon his master, making him believe that Dulcinea was
enchanted and turned into a country wench; and of how the duchess, his
wife, had persuaded Sancho that it was he himself who was deceived,
inasmuch as Dulcinea was really enchanted; at which the bachelor laughed
not a little, and marvelled as well at the sharpness and simplicity of
Sancho as at the length to which Don Quixote's madness went. The duke
begged of him if he found him (whether he overcame him or not) to return
that way and let him know the result. This the bachelor did; he set out
in quest of Don Quixote, and not finding him at Saragossa, he went on,
and how he fared has been already told. He returned to the duke's castle
and told him all, what the conditions of the combat were, and how Don
Quixote was now, like a loyal knight-errant, returning to keep his
promise of retiring to his village for a year, by which time, said the
bachelor, he might perhaps be cured of his madness; for that was the
object that had led him to adopt these disguises, as it was a sad thing
for a gentleman of such good parts as Don Quixote to be a madman. And so
he took his leave of the duke, and went home to his village to wait there
for Don Quixote, who was coming after him. Thereupon the duke seized the
opportunity of practising this mystification upon him; so much did he
enjoy everything connected with Sancho and Don Quixote. He had the roads
about the castle far and near, everywhere he thought Don Quixote was
likely to pass on his return, occupied by large numbers of his servants
on foot and on horseback, who were to bring him to the castle, by fair
means or foul, if they met him. They did meet him, and sent word to the
duke, who, having already settled what was to be done, as soon as he
heard of his arrival, ordered the torches and lamps in the court to be
lit and Altisidora to be placed on the catafalque with all the pomp and
ceremony that has been described, the whole affair being so well arranged
and acted that it differed but little from reality. And Cide Hamete says,
moreover, that for his part he considers the concocters of the joke as
crazy as the victims of it, and that the duke and duchess were not two
fingers' breadth removed from being something like fools themselves when
they took such pains to make game of a pair of fools.
As for the latter, one was sleeping soundly and the other lying awake
occupied with his desultory thoughts, when daylight came to them bringing
with it the desire to rise; for the lazy down was never a delight to Don
Quixote, victor or vanquished. Altisidora, come back from death to life
as Don Quixote fancied, following up the freak of her lord and lady,
entered the chamber, crowned with the garland she had worn on the
catafalque and in a robe of white taffeta embroidered with gold flowers,
her hair flowing loose over her shoulders, and leaning upon a staff of
fine black ebony. Don Quixote, disconcerted and in confusion at her
appearance, huddled himself up and well-nigh covered himself altogether
with the sheets and counterpane of the bed, tongue-tied, and unable to
offer her any civility. Altisidora seated herself on a chair at the head
of the bed, and, after a deep sigh, said to him in a feeble, soft voice,
"When women of rank and modest maidens trample honour under foot, and
give a loose to the tongue that breaks through every impediment,
publishing abroad the inmost secrets of their hearts, they are reduced to
sore extremities. Such a one am I, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha,
crushed, conquered, love-smitten, but yet patient under suffering and
virtuous, and so much so that my heart broke with grief and I lost my
life. For the last two days I have been dead, slain by the thought of the
cruelty with which thou hast treated me, obdurate knight,
O harder thou than marble to my plaint;
or at least believed to be dead by all who saw me; and had it not been
that Love, taking pity on me, let my recovery rest upon the sufferings of
this good squire, there I should have remained in the other world."
"Love might very well have let it rest upon the sufferings of my ass, and
I should have been obliged to him," said Sancho. "But tell me,
senora--and may heaven send you a tenderer lover than my master-what did
you see in the other world? What goes on in hell? For of course that's
where one who dies in despair is bound for."
"To tell you the truth," said Altisidora, "I cannot have died outright,
for I did not go into hell; had I gone in, it is very certain I should
never have come out again, do what I might. The truth is, I came to the
gate, where some dozen or so of devils were playing tennis, all in
breeches and doublets, with falling collars trimmed with Flemish
bonelace, and ruffles of the same that served them for wristbands, with
four fingers' breadth of the arms exposed to make their hands look
longer; in their hands they held rackets of fire; but what amazed me
still more was that books, apparently full of wind and rubbish, served
them for tennis balls, a strange and marvellous thing; this, however, did
not astonish me so much as to observe that, although with players it is
usual for the winners to be glad and the losers sorry, there in that game
all were growling, all were snarling, and all were cursing one another."
"That's no wonder," said Sancho; "for devils, whether playing or not, can
never be content, win or lose."