BOOK III.
CHAP. I. OF THE PLEASANT CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN THE DUCHESS, HER WOMEN, AND SANCHO PANZA; WORTHY TO BE READ AND REMEMBERED.
The history then relates, that Sancho did not sleep that afternoon; but, according to his promise, went, eating all the way, into the apartment of the duchess, who took great delight in hearing his conversation, and desired him to sit close by her on a joint-stool, though the squire, out of pure good-breeding, begged to be excused; but her grace told him, he should sit as governor, and speak as squire, for in both capacities he deserved the individual seat of the champion Cid Roy Dias.
[Illustration: Sancho Panza and the Duchess and Her Ladies.]
Sancho, shrugging up his shoulders, obeyed and took his place, surrounded by all the damsels and duennas, who listened with profound silence and attention. Nevertheless, the duchess was the first who began the discourse, saying—‘Now that we are by ourselves, unheard by any body, I must entreat Mr. Governor, to resolve certain doubts of mine, produced by the printed history of the great Don Quixote; one of which doubts is this: as honest Sancho never saw Dulcinea, I mean, the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, nor conveyed to her the letter of Signior Don Quixote, which remained with the memorandum book in Sierra Morena, how durst he feign an answer, and pretend that he found her winnowing wheat, a circumstance altogether ridiculous and untrue, so much to the prejudice of the peerless Dulcinea’s reputation, and so ill becoming the station and fidelity of a trusty squire?’
Without making any immediate answer to this interrogation, Sancho rose from his seat, and moving softly on his tiptoes, with his body bent, and a finger on his lips, examined the whole apartment, lifting up and looking behind the tapestry; and this scrutiny being made, returned to his stool, and replied—‘Now, my Lady Duchess, that I am assured there is no skulker listening, and that we are not overheard by any but this good company, I will, without fear or trembling, answer all the questions of your grace; and first and foremost, I will own, I look upon my master Don Quixote as an incurable madman; although sometimes he says things, which, to my thinking, and in the opinion of all who hear them, are so sensible and well-directed, that even Satan himself could not mend them: nevertheless, I am really and truly, and without any scruple, fully persuaded within myself, that he is downright distracted. Now as I am possessed with this notion, I venture to make him believe any story, without either head or tail, like that of the answer to his letter, and another trick that I played him six or eight days ago, which is not yet recorded in the history; I mean, the enchantment of Donna Dulcinea, which I palmed upon him, though it was a tale as wild and uncertain as the hills of Ubeda[170].’
The duchess desired he would recount that enchantment or deception; and he accordingly related it exactly as it happened, to the no small entertainment of the hearers; but when he was about to proceed in his discourse, her grace interposing, said—‘From this recital of honest Sancho, a scruple has started in my mind, and whispers me in the ear, since Don Quixote de La Mancha is so lunatick, crazy, and mad, and his squire Sancho Panza, who knows his infirmity, nevertheless serves and follows him, and even depends upon his vain promises; the said squire must, without all doubt, be more crazy and mad than his master; and if this be the case, as it certainly is, it would be no great sign of wisdom in you, my Lady Duchess, to bestow an island on such a governor; for how will he be able to govern other people, who cannot govern himself?’
‘’Fore God, my lady,’ cried the squire, ‘your scruple starts in the right place; and I beg your ladyship will let it speak out in its own way, for I know it speaks truth. Had I been wise, I should have left my master long ago; but this was my fate and my misventure: I cannot do otherwise, but follow him I must. We are of the same town; I have eaten of his bread; I have an affection for him; he returns me his love, and has given me his colts; but, above all, I am constant and faithful, and therefore nothing can possibly part us but the sexton’s shovel. If your highness does not chuse to perform your promise of the island, God made me of a less matter, and perhaps your refusal may turn out to the ease of my conscience; for maugre all my madness, I understand the proverb that says, The pismire found wings to her sorrow: and perhaps Sancho the Squire may get sooner to heaven than Governor Sancho; There’s as good bread baked here as in France; and By night all cats are grey; and sure, The man his lot may rue, who has not broke his fast by two; Between man and man the maw cannot differ a span; and, as the saying is, With hay or with straw we’ll fill up the craw; The little birds of the field have God for their steward and shield; Four yards of coarse Cuenca stuff are warmer than as much of fine Segovia serge; When we leave this world and are laid in the ground, the Lord goes in as narrow a path as his labourer; and, The pope’s body takes up no more room than the sexton’s; for though the one be higher than the other, When we go to the pit, we must lie snug, and make it fit; or, We shall be obliged to find room, though scanty is the tomb: and so good night. Wherefore, I say again, if your grace will not give me the island, because I’m a fool, I shall be so wise as not to break my heart at the disappointment; and I have often heard, that the devil skulks behind the cross; It is not all gold that glitters; and that, From his oxen, his yokes, and his ploughs, Bamba the husbandman was raised to the throne of Spain; and that from his riches, pastime, and embroidery, Rodorigo was taken to be devoured by serpents, if the rhimes of old ballads do not lye.’
Here Donna Rodriguez the duenna, who was one of the hearers, interposing, ‘Wherefore should they lye?’ said she, ‘for the ballad says as how they thrust King Rodorigo all alive into a tomb full of toads, lizards, and snakes; and two days after, he was heard to cry with a weak and doleful voice, “Now they eat me! now they gnaw the part in which I sinned so heinously!” And therefore the gentleman is in the right to say he would rather be a husbandman than a king, to be devoured by vermin.’
The duchess could neither help laughing at the simplicity of her duenna, nor admiring the discourse and proverbs of Sancho, to whom she replied—‘Honest Sancho very well knows whatsoever a knight promises must be fulfilled, even though it should cost him his life; now, my lord and husband the duke, though no errant, is, nevertheless, a knight; and therefore will perform his promise of the island, in spite of all the envy and malice of the world; let Sancho, then, be of good cheer; for when he least thinks of the matter, he will see himself seated in the saddle of his island and dominion, and grasp his government, which he would not exchange for one of superfine brocade; but I charge him to mind how he governs his vassals, who, I give him notice, are all people of honest parents and approved loyalty.’
‘With respect to their being happy under my government,’ said the squire, ‘you need not give me any thing in charge; for I am naturally charitable and compassionate towards the poor; and, From him who can knead and bake, it is not easy to steal a cake. By my salvation, they shall not pass false dice upon me! I am an old dog, not to be taken in with, “Come hither, poor Tray[171].” I know how to snuff my peepers upon proper occasions; nor will I consent to walk with cobwebs in my eyes; for I know where the shoe pinches. This I observe, because the righteous shall always have the benefit of my heart and hand, but the wicked shall have neither foot nor footing. In my opinion, every governor must have a beginning in the art and mystery of government, and perhaps, in a fortnight’s administration, I shall lick my fingers after the office, and know as much of the matter as I do of day-labour, to which I was bred.’
‘Sancho,’ said the duchess, ‘you are certainly in the right; for no man was ever a scholar at his birth; and bishops are made of men, and not of blocks, but to return to our former discourse about the inchantment of the Lady Dulcinea; I take it for an absolute certainty, and not a bare asseveration, that Sancho’s scheme of deceiving his master, and making him believe that the country wench was Dulcinea, whom the knight could not know, because she was inchanted; I say, this scheme was altogether the invention of one of those inchanters who persecute Don Quixote; for I know, from very good authority, that the village maiden who skipped upon the ass, was really and truly the individual Dulcinea del Toboso; and that Sancho, in thinking himself the deceiver, was, in fast, the person deceived: a truth of which we ought no more to doubt, than of things we never saw; for Signior Sancho Panza must know, that here also we have friendly inchanters, who, out of real regard, impart to us every thing that passes, truly and distinctly, without circumlocution or deceit; and therefore, Sancho may believe me, when I affirm, that the jumping wench was, and is, Dulcinea del Toboso, who is as much inchanted as the mother that bore her; and when we dream of no such thing, we shall see her in her own shape, and then Sancho will be undeceived.’
‘There is nothing more likely,’ cried the squire; ‘and now I am apt to believe my master’s account of the cave of Montesinos, where he saw my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, dressed in the same manner that I described, when I inchanted her for my own amusement. Now, the whole affair must have been quite the reverse, as your ladyship observes; for it cannot be supposed that my ignorant pate could contrive, in an instant, such an ingenious stratagem; nor can I think my master such a fool, as upon my weak and meagre persuasion, to believe such an improbable device; but for all that, my lady, your goodness ought not to take me for an evil-minded person, seeing a blockhead, like me, is not obliged to bore into the designs and knavery of abominable inchanters. I contrived the scheme, in order to escape the displeasure of my master Don Quixote, and not with any design to do him hurt; and if it has turned out otherwise, there’s a Judge in heaven who knows the heart.’—‘Very true,’ answered the duchess; ‘but tell me now, Sancho, the story of the cave of Montesinos, which I shall be extremely glad to hear.’
Then Sancho Panza recounted every circumstance of that adventure, as it hath been already related; and her grace having heard the whole—‘From this incident,’ said she, ‘we may infer, that since the great Don Quixote says he beheld in that place the same country wench whom Sancho saw in the neighbourhood of Toboso, it could be no other than Dulcinea, and that the inchanters of this country are very officious, and extremely curious.’—‘This I will venture to say,’ replied Panza, ‘that if my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso is really inchanted, ’tis her own loss, and that it is no business of mine to enter the lists with my master’s enemies, who are certainly both wicked and numerous. True it is, she I saw was a country-wench, for such I took her, and such I judged her to be. If that was Dulcinea, it ought not to be laid to my charge, nor am I to be blackened for that reason; yet I must be lugged in, at every bawdy house bench, with “Sancho said this; Sancho did that; Sancho went, and Sancho came!” as if Sancho were just such as they would please to make him, and not the very same Sancho Panza who has already travelled all the world over in books, as I have been informed by Samson Carrasco, who is, at least, a batcheleering person of Salamanca; and such people cannot tell an untruth, except when it comes into their heads, or will turn to their account; wherefore, nobody has any right to meddle with me; and seeing I live in good repute, and I have heard my master say, A good name is better than tons of wealth, even shove me into this government, and they shall see marvellous things; for he who has been a good squire, will never become a bad governor.’
‘All that honest Sancho has uttered,’ said the duchess, ‘is Catonian wisdom, or at least the very essence of Michael Verino[172], _Florentibus occidit annis_. In a word, to speak in his own stile, A good drinker is often found under a rusty cloak.’—‘In sober truth, my Lady,’ answered Sancho, ‘I never in my life drank out of malice; from thirst I might, for I have not the least spice of hypocrisy in my belly; I drink when I chuse it, and even when I would rather be excused, because I am desired so to do, that I may not seem shy or ill-bred; for sure he must have an heart of marble who can refuse to pledge a friend; for though I put on my shoes, I will not defile them; especially, as the squires of knights-errant usually drink water, as they are always strolling through forests, woods, and meadows, and over rocks and mountains, without finding the smallest charity of wine, even though one should offer to purchase it with an eye.’—‘I believe what you say,’ answered the duchess: ‘at present Sancho may go to rest; and we shall afterwards talk more at large upon these subjects, and take order that with all convenient dispatch he may be, to use his own words, shoved into that same government.’
Sancho kissed his hands again, and begged her grace would be so good as to give directions about the entertainment of Dapple, who was the light of his eyes. When she asked, what he meant by Dapple—‘My ass,’ replied the squire, ‘whom, rather than use the vulgar term, I call Dapple: when I first came to the castle, I desired Madam Duenna here to take care of him; and truly she was as much affronted as if I had called her ugly and old; though I think it would be more natural and proper for duennas to look after cattle, than to regulate rooms of state. God’s my life! what a spite a gentleman of our town had to these waiting-gentlewomen.’—‘He must be some ill-bred clown,’ said Donna Rodriguez the duenna; ‘for had he been a gentleman of birth, he would have exalted them above the horns of the moon.’—‘Enough, for the present,’ resumed the duchess: ‘hold your tongue, Donna Rodriguez, and let Signior Panza make himself perfectly easy, and leave me to take special care of Dapple, whom, as being a moveable appertaining to Sancho, I will place him above the apple of mine eye.’—‘The stable is a place good enough for him,’ answered the squire; ‘for neither he nor I are worthy of being placed for one moment above the apple of your highness’s eye; and I will as soon consent to his being disposed of in that manner, as I would to drive a dagger in my breast; for although, as my master says, in point of courtesy, one ought to lose the game by a card too much, rather than by a card too little; in respect to asses, and the apple of an eye, one ought to proceed cautiously with the compass in his hand, and measure as he goes.’
‘Sancho may conduct him to his government,’ said the duchess, ‘and there entertain him to his heart’s content; nay, even infranchise him from all labour.’—‘Your grace, my Lady Duchess, needs not think much of that,’ replied the squire; ‘for I have seen more than one or two asses go to governments; and therefore it will be no new practice if I carry Dapple to mine.’
This remark renewed the laughter and satisfaction of the duchess, who having dismissed him to his repose, went to communicate the conversation to the duke; and this noble couple contrived and gave directions about the execution of a pleasant joke upon Don Quixote, which should turn out a famous incident, and be conformable in all respects to the stile of chivalry; in which they invented a number, with such propriety and discretion, that they are counted the best adventures contained in this important history.
Footnote 170:
This is an expression proverbially applied to any story that is vague, inconsistent, or of dubious authority; for the hills of Ubeda make an extensive chain, the different parts of which are differently denominated, from the different countries or districts through which it extends; so that the whole is not easily ascertained.
Footnote 171:
In the original, ‘And thoroughly understand “_Tus, tus_”’; which is an expression in Spain, to wheedle a cur.
Footnote 172:
A young Florentine, of great genius, who died in the seventeenth year of his age, and was lamented by all the poets of his time.
CHAP. II. WHICH GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF THE INFORMATION RECEIVED, TOUCHING THE MEANS FOR DISINCHANTING THE PEERLESS DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO: ONE OF THE MOST RENOWNED ADVENTURES OF THIS BOOK.
Great was the satisfaction which the duke and duchess received from the conversation of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; and being confirmed in their design of practising some jokes, which should bear a faint shadow and appearance of adventures, they took the hint for a very extraordinary contrivance, from the knight’s account of what had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos: but what mostly excited the admiration of the duchess, was the amazing simplicity of Sancho, who was by this time brought to believe, as an infallible truth, the inchantment of Dulcinea, though he himself was the only inchanter and projector of that whole stratagem. Their graces having given directions to the servants, touching the execution of the scheme they had laid, at the end of six days they went forth to hunt the wild boar, with as great an apparatus of hunters and spearmen as used to attend the king in person. Don Quixote was presented with a hunting suit, and Sancho received another of superfine green cloth; but the knight excused himself from accepting the present, observing that, in a few days, he should be obliged to resume the rugged exercise of arms, and therefore could not encumber himself with baggage and wardrobes; as for the squire, he took that which was offered to him, without scruple, intending to sell it with the first opportunity.
On the morning of the appointed day, Don Quixote armed himself at all points, Sancho put on his green suit, and mounting Dapple, which he would not exchange for the best steed in the stable, mingled among the troop of hunters: the duchess came forth very gaily caparisoned, and the knight, out of pure courtesy and good breeding, would have held the reins of her palfrey; but the duke would not consent to his performing such an office. At length they arrived at a wood, between two very high mountains, where the disposition being made, the toils set, and the people distributed in their different posts, the hunt began with a vast noise of hallooing and crying, and nothing could be distinctly heard for the barking of the dogs and the sound of the horns. The duchess alighted, and with a pointed boar-spear in her hand, took post in a place through which she knew the wild beasts were used to come; the duke and Don Quixote likewise dismounting, posted themselves on each side of her grace, while Sancho stayed in the rear, without parting from Dapple, whom he durst not quit, lest some misfortune should happen to that darling beast.
Scarce had they set foot on ground, and taken their stations, supported by a number of servants, when they beheld a monstrous boar baited by the dogs and pursued by the hunters, running towards them, gnashing his teeth and tusks, and foaming at the mouth. The knight no sooner perceived this savage, than bracing his shield and unsheathing his sword, he advanced to receive him; while the duke did the same with his boar-spear; but the duchess would have been the foremost of the three, had she not been restrained by her lord. Sancho alone seeing this furious animal, forsook his friend Dapple, and running full speed, in order to climb a lofty oak, found his endeavours altogether ineffectual; for having surmounted one half of the ascent, the branch on which he stood struggling to gain the top, unfortunately gave way, and in falling, he was caught by another stump of the tree, so that he hung dangling in the air, without being able to reach the ground. Perceiving himself thus suspended, that his green suit was torn, and supposing that if the wild boar should come up, he would be able to seize him as he hung, he began to utter such doleful cries, and roar so hideously for assistance, that all those who heard his clamour, without seeing his situation, actually believed he was in the jaws of some savage beast. At length the tusky boar being pierced and killed by the number of spears that opposed him, Don Quixote turned about his head, in consequence of Sancho’s cries, by which he recognized his faithful squire, whom he saw hanging from the oak, with his head downwards, and hard by he perceived Dapple, who did not forsake him in his calamity: and Cid Hamet observes, that he very seldom saw Sancho without Dapple, or Dapple without Sancho, such was the friendship and fidelity subsisting between them. Don Quixote immediately advanced and unhooked Sancho; who finding himself delivered, and fairly placed upon firm ground, examined the rent in his hunting-suit, which grieved him to the soul; for in that dress he thought he had obtained an invaluable inheritance.
About this time they laid the mighty boar across a sumpter mule, and covering him with sprigs of myrtle and rosemary, carried him in triumph, as the spoils of victory, to a large field-tent, pitched in the middle of the wood, where they found the cloth ready laid, and the table furnished with such a grand and sumptuous entertainment as well bespoke the wealth and magnificence of the founder. Sancho presenting to the duchess the skirts of his torn suit—‘If,’ said he, ‘this had been hare or sparrow-hunting, my coat would have been secure from this unlucky accident; for my own part, I do not know what pleasure there is in attacking an animal, which, if he can once fasten his tusks on you, will deprive you of life. I remember to have heard people sing an old ballad, that says—
‘“May bears upon thy carcase feed, As erst on Fabila they did.”’
‘That was a Gothick king,’ said Don Quixote, ‘who in going to the chace, was devoured by a bear.’—‘That is the very thing I say,’ replied the squire, ‘I would not have kings and noblemen run themselves into such dangers, for the enjoyment of a diversion which, in my opinion, hardly deserves the name, as it consists in murdering a poor beast that never committed any crime.’—‘There, Sancho, you are mistaken,’ said the duke, ‘for the exercise of hunting wild-beasts is of all others the most necessary and suitable to kings and noblemen. The chace is a picture of war, comprehending schemes, feints, and stratagems, for taking advantage of the enemy; by this we are enabled to endure extreme cold and excessive heat, to contemn ease and undervalue sleep; our bodies acquire strength, and our limbs agility; in a word, it is an exercise that affords pleasure to numbers, and does prejudice to none; and what renders it superior to all others is, that it cannot be enjoyed by every body, like all the other kinds of sport, except hawking, which is also peculiar to sovereigns and persons of rank; you must therefore alter your opinion, Sancho, and when you are governor, employ yourself in the chace, which you will find of incredible service.[173]’—‘Surely, that cannot be,’ answered the squire; ‘a good governor will stay at home, as if he had a broken bone. It would look rarely indeed, if, when people fatigued with a journey, come to visit him upon business, he should be taking his diversion upon the hills; in that case the government would go to wreck. In good faith, my lord, such pastime is more proper for idle folks than for governors: I intend, God willing, to amuse myself with a game at cards at Easter, and with nine pins on Sundays and holidays; for as to these chaces or cases, they neither suit my condition, nor agree with my confidence.’—‘God grant Sancho may behave as he says he will,’ replied the duke; ‘but there is a wide difference between saying and doing.’—‘Let it be as wide as it pleases,’ cried Sancho. ‘A good paymaster needs no pawn; God’s blessing is better than early rising; and, The belly is carried by the feet, and not the feet by the belly; I mean, that with God’s assistance, and a righteous intention, I shall certainly be able to govern like any goshawk; aye, aye, let them thrust their fingers in my mouth, and they shall see whether or no I can bite.’
‘The curse of God, and all his saints, light on thee, accursed babbler!’ cried Don Quixote: ‘will that day never come, as I have often said, when I shall hear thee speak sensibly and distinctly, without lugging in old saws?—My Lord and Lady Duchess, I entreat your graces to let that madman alone; otherwise he will grind your souls, not between two but two thousand proverbs, dragged in as much to the purpose, and as seasonably as I wish God may give him health, or me protection, if I desire to hear them.’—‘The proverbs of Sancho Panza,’ said the duchess, ‘though more in number than those of the Greek commentator, are not the less to be esteemed for the conciseness of the apophthegms. I can safely say for myself, that they give me much more pleasure than I should receive from others, though better culled and more suitable to the occasion.’
In the midst of this and other such savoury conversation, they quitted the tent, to examine some snares they had laid; in which amusement the day was soon elapsed, and was succeeded by the night, which did not appear so serene and composed as it might have been expected at the season of the year, which was midsummer, but along with it came a certain _darkness visible_, which greatly assisted the design of the duke and duchess. When the night, therefore, began to fall, a little after the twilight, all of a sudden the four quarters of the wood seemed to be on fire, and here and there, and every where, they heard an infinite number of cornets and other warlike instruments, as if a great number of cavalry had been marching through the wood; so that the light of the flames, and the sound of those warlike instruments, dazzled and astonished the eyes and ears of the bye-standers, and indeed of all the people in the wood. This noise was succeeded by innumerable _lelilles_, or cries used by the Moors in battle; the trumpets and clarions exalted their brazen throats, the drums rattled, and the fires resounded all together, in such a continued and alarming concert, that the man must have been utterly devoid of all sense who did not lose it in consequence of such confusion and uproar. The duke was confounded, the duchess amazed, Don Quixote astonished, Sancho Panza affrighted; and, finally, even those who were let into the secret, seemed to be seized with consternation, which produced among them a most dreary silence.
During this pause, came a postillion dressed, like a devil, and instead of a cornet, blew an unmeasurable horn, which yielded an hoarse and dreadful sound. ‘Holla! brother courier,’ cried the duke, ‘who are you? where are you going? and what troops are those that seem to march across the wood?’ To these interrogations the courier replied, in a dismal, hollow tone—‘I am the devil, going in quest of Don Quixote de La Mancha; those who follow are six troops of inchanters, who bring upon a triumphant car the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso inchanted, accompanied by the gallant Frenchman Montesinos, to instruct Don Quixote in a certain method for disinchanting the said Lady Dulcinea.’—‘If you were the devil,’ answered the duke, ‘as you say you are, and your figure seems to declare, you would have distinguished that same knight Don Quixote de La Mancha, who now stands before you.’—‘’Fore God! and upon my conscience,’ cried the devil, ‘I did not see him; for my thoughts are so much distracted by different avocations, that I had forgot the principal aim of my coming.’—‘Without doubt,’ said Sancho, ‘that devil must be an honest man, and a good Christian, otherwise he would not swear, ’Fore God, and on my conscience! Now I am fully convinced that there must be some worthy people even in hell.’
Then the courier, without alighting, fixed his eyes upon Don Quixote, and pronounced—‘To thee, the Knight of the Lions (and would I might see thee in their clutches) am I sent by the unfortunate though valiant knight Montesinos, who commanded me to desire, in his name, that thou wouldst wait on the very spot where I should find thee, because he brings along with him one Dulcinea del Toboso, in order to communicate what will be necessary towards her disinchantment; and as this message was the sole cause of my coming, there is no cause that requires my longer stay. Devils like me be with thee, and good angels guard that noble pair!’ So saying, he sounded his dreadful horn, and rode off, without waiting for the least reply.
This address renewed the astonishment of all present, especially of Sancho and Don Quixote; of Sancho, because, in despite of truth, he saw they were resolved that Dulcinea should be inchanted; and of Don Quixote, because he could not be certain of the truth of what had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos. While he was wrapped in these meditations, the duke accosted him, saying—‘Signior Don Quixote, do you intend to wait?’—‘Wherefore not?’ replied the knight; ‘here will I wait, courageous and intrepid, though all hell should come to assault me.’—‘Then, for my part,’ cried Sancho, ‘if I see another devil, and hear another horn like that which passed, I should as soon wait here as in Flanders.’
About this time the night being more advanced, a number of lights began to gleam through the wood, like the dry exhalations of the earth that glide through the air, and are mistaken by ignorant people for shooting stars: their fears were likewise invaded by a frightful sound, like that occasioned by the massy wheels of waggons drawn by oxen; an harsh and grating noise, from which the very bears and wolves (if any chance to be in the way) are said to fly with terror. This uproar was succeeded by another more terrible than all the rest; for all at once, at the four corners of the wood, there really seemed to be four encounters or battles: in one place was heard the horrid din of cannon; in another a vast number of muskets were fired; here resounded the cries of the combatants; there the Moorish _lelilles_ were repeated with vast vociferation. In a word, the cornets, horns, bugles, clarions, trumpets, drums, artillery, and musketry, but, above all, the dismal noise of the cars, formed all together such a confused and horrible concert, that Don Quixote was obliged to recollect his whole courage, in order to bear it without emotion; but Sancho’s heart died within him, and down he came in a swoon upon the train of the duchess, who received him as he fell, and with marks of great concern, ordered her servants to throw water in his face: in consequence of this application, he recovered, just as one of the waggons with the creaking wheels came up to the place where they stood. It was drawn by four lazy oxen, wholly covered with black trappings, with a large lighted taper tied to each horn, and in the waggon was raised a lofty seat, on which sat a venerable old man, with a beard as white as snow itself, that flowed down below his middle, and a large loose garment of black buckram; for the waggon being stuck full of lights, it was easy to observe and distinguish every thing that it contained. It was conducted by two ugly devils clad also in buckram, with such hideous features, that Sancho no sooner saw them than he shut his eyes, that they might not encounter such frightful objects. This carriage being come up, the venerable senior rose up from his lofty seat, and pronounced aloud—‘I am the sage Lirgandeo.’ He said no more; and the waggon proceeded. Another carriage followed in the same manner, with another old man inthroned, who ordering the waggon to stop, said with a voice as solemn as the first—‘I am the sage Alquife, the great friend of Urganda the unknown.’ And so the carriage proceeded. Then a third approached in the same stile: but he who possessed this throne, instead of being old like the others, was a robust man of a very disagreeable aspect, who rising from his seat, like the other two, exclaimed in a more hoarse and diabolical tone—‘I am the inchanter Arcalaus, the mortal enemy of Amadis de Gaul, and his whole race.’ And so the carriage passed on; but when they had proceeded a little way, the three waggons halted, then ceased the dismal creaking of the wheels, and no other sound was heard but that of an agreeable musical concert, which rejoiced the heart of Sancho, who took it as a good omen, and in that persuasion said to the duchess, from whom he had not budged an hair’s breadth—‘My Lady Duchess, where there is musick there can be no harm.’—‘As little should we expect any harm where there is light and illumination,’ answered the duchess. ‘And yet,’ replied the squire, ‘we may be easily burnt by such torches and bonfires as these, notwithstanding all the light and illuminations they produced; but musick is always a sign of joy and feasting.’—‘Time will shew,’ said Don Quixote, who overheard the conversation; and he said well, as will appear in the following chapter.
Footnote 173:
Literally, ‘And you shall see it will be worth a loaf that will serve a hundred.’
CHAP. III. BEING A CONTINUATION OF WHAT WAS IMPARTED TO DON QUIXOTE, TOUCHING THE MEANS FOR DISINCHANTING DULCINEA—WITH AN ACCOUNT OF OTHER SURPRIZING INCIDENTS.
Moving to the sound of this agreeable musick, came one of those carriages, called triumphal cars, drawn by six grey mules, covered with white linen, and upon each was mounted a penitent of light[174], clad also in white, with a large lighted wax taper in his hand. The car was twice, nay thrice as large as the carriages which had passed, and the tops and sides were occupied by twelve other penitents as white as snow, with their lighted tapers: a sight that excited equal terror and surprise. Seated on a lofty throne appeared a nymph, habited in robes of silver tissue, bespangled with innumerable leaves of gold brocade; so that her dress, if not rich, was extremely gaudy; her face was covered with a delicate and transparent veil of fine tiffany, the plaits of which could not conceal the beauteous features of a young lady; and the number of lights enabled the spectators to distinguish her charms and her age, which seemed to be turned of seventeen, but under twenty. Close by her appeared a figure clad in what is called a robe of state, that reached to his feet; and his head was muffled in a black veil. The cart had no sooner come opposite to the duke and duchess and Don Quixote, than the musick of the waits, the harps, and lutes, ceased all at once; then this figure rising, threw aside his robe, and taking off the veil, disclosed to view the horrible and incarnate form of death; at sight of which Don Quixote was startled, Sancho overwhelmed with fear, and the duke and duchess exhibited some affected marks of consternation.
This living death standing upright, began, with a languid voice and tongue, but half awake, to repeat the following address—
‘I Merlin am, by histories bely’d. That represent the devil as my fire: A falshood sanction’d by the lapse of time. I am the prince of magick, in whose breast The Zoroastrick science lies intomb’d: The rival of invidious Time, whose wings Still seek to shade and darken all exploits Atchiev’d by the illustrious errant knights, For whom my friendship glows, and ever glow’d.
‘Tho’ all my fellows of th’inchanting tribe, The magi and magicians, ever nurs’d A disposition barbarous and harsh, Mine still was tender, gentle, and humane, A friend to all the various race of man. In the profoundest cave of gloomy Dis, Where my industrious spirit was employ’d In forming mystick characters and spells, Mine ears were wounded with the wailing cries Of fam’d Dulcinea, that matchless fair.
‘I learn’d her strange inchantment, and condol’d Her transformation from a gentle nymph To the vile figure of a rustick wench. And hundred thousand volumes I perus’d, Fraught with the dark and diabolick art; Then in the horrible and ghastly trunk Of this dry skeleton my soul enclosed: And now I come on purpose to impart An easy remedy for her mishap.
‘O thou! the glory of all knights who wear Impervious coats of mail and adamant; Thou light and lanthorn, path, and north, and guide Of all who quit the drowsy joys of sloth, And starting from the lazy down, embrace Th’ intolerable use and exercise Of rude, unwieldy, sanguinary arms: To thee I speak, great chief, whose valiant deeds So far transcend the loudest blast of fame.
‘Quixote, for courage and discretion fam’d, La Mancha’s mirrour, and the star of Spain, In order to recover and restore Thy peerless mistress to her former state, Sancho, thy faithful squire, must undergo Three thousand and three hundred stripes, apply’d To his posteriors, passively expos’d; And he himself must wield the pliant scourge And start, and smart, and tingle with the pain. Thus stands th’ irrevocable doom pronounc’d By the fell authors of her dire mischance; And on this errand, gentles, am I come.’
‘I vow to God!’ cried Sancho at this period, ‘not to mention three thousand, I will as soon give myself three stabs with a dagger as three single stripes with a scourge. Now, devil take such ways of disenchanting! I cannot conceive what my buttocks have to do with inchantments. Before God! if Signior Merlin can find no other method for disinchanting my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he may e’en go enchanted to her grave.’—‘Hark ye, Don Garlick-eating rustick,’ said Don Quixote, ‘I shall take and tie you to a tree, naked as your mother bore you, and not to mention three thousand three hundred, give you six thousand six hundred lashes, so well laid on, that three thousand three hundred twitches shall not pull them off; and answer me not a syllable, or I will tear thy soul from thy body.’
Merlin hearing this declaration—‘Not so, neither,’ said he; ‘the lashes to be received by honest Sancho must be voluntary, not upon compulsion, and at his own leisure, for there is no time fixed for the final execution; nevertheless, he is so far indulged, that he may be quit for one half of the stripes, provided he will allow the other half to be inflicted by another hand, though it may chance to be a little weighty.’—‘No man’s hand shall touch my flesh! neither another’s, nor my own, nor weighty nor unweighed. What a plague! did I, forsooth, bring my Lady Dulcinea into the world, that my backside must suffer for the transgression of her eyes? My master, indeed, who is a part of her, and is continually calling her his life, his soul, his sustenance and support, may, and ought to lash himself for her sake, and take with all dispatch the necessary steps for her disenchantment; but for me to scourge my own body, I denounce it!’
Scarce had Sancho uttered this remonstrance, when the embroidered nymph who sat by Merlin’s spirit, rising up, took off her transparent veil, and disclosing a face, which to all the spectators seemed more than exceedingly beautiful, addressed herself in these words directly to Sancho Panza, with a masculine assurance, and a voice that was not extremely melodious—‘O ill-conditioned squire! thou soul of a pitcher, heart of cork, and bowels of flinty pebbles! hadst thou been commanded, thou nose-slaying caitiff, to throw thyself down from a lofty tower; hadst thou been desired, thou enemy of human species, to swallow a dozen of toads, twice the number of lizards, and three dozen of snakes; hadst thou been urged to murder thy wife and children with some sharp and ruthless scymitar, it would not have been strange to see thee shy and fearful; but to make such objections to three thousand three hundred stripes, which there is scarce a naughty boy that does not receive every month, astounds, astonishes, and affrights the compassionate bowels of all this audience, as well as of all those who shall hear it in the future course of time. Turn, O miserable, hard-hearted animal! turn, I say, thy mulish goggle eyes upon these balls of mine that emulate the glittering stars, and see how they weep, thread by thread, and skein by skein, creating trenches, paths, and furrows, through the delightful meadows of my cheeks! Wilt thou not relent, thou crafty and malicious monster, at seeing me, in the flower of my age, (for I am still in my teens, being no more than nineteen, which is one year short of twenty) consume and pine within the bark of a homely rustick wench? in which form if I do not now appear, it is owing to the particular favour of Signior Merlin, who has indulged me so far, that my beauty might melt thy savage heart; for the tears of afflicted beauty soften rocks to cotton, and transform tygers into gentle lambs. Chastise, chastise, obdurate beast, that brawny beef of thine; arouze that slothful spirit which inclines thee to nothing but to gorge and regorge thy voracious maw, and set at liberty the beauty of my face; and if, for my sake, thou wilt not mollify thyself, and listen to any reasonable terms, at least relent in favour of that poor knight who stands forlorn at thy elbow; I mean, thy master, whose soul I now can see traversed in his throat, not above ten fingers breadth from his lips, waiting for nothing but thy kind or rigorous reply, in consequence of which it will either leap out of his mouth, or retire to his stomach.’
Don Quixote hearing these words, felt his throat, and turning to the duke, ‘By Heaven! my lord,’ said he, ‘Dulcinea has spoke truth; for here do I feel my soul traversed in my throat, like the nut of a cross-bow.’ When the duchess asked what Sancho said to that circumstance, ‘I say,’ replied the squire, ‘what I have said already, that the whipping I denounce.’—‘You must call it renounce,’ said the duke, ‘and not denounce.’—‘I would your grace would let me alone,’ answered Sancho, ‘this is no time for me to mind niceties and letters, more or less; for I am so confounded at those stripes which I am to receive, or execute upon myself, that I neither know what I am saying or doing: yet I should be glad to know where my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso learned that manner of asking favours. She comes to desire me to tear open my flesh with a horse-whip, and calls me soul of a pitcher, obdurate beast, and a whole rigmarole of villainous names, which the devil may suffer for me! What a plague, is my flesh made of brass; or is it any thing to me, whether she is disinchanted or no? What baskets of white linen, shirts, caps, and socks, (though I wear none) does she bring to soften me? Nothing but abuse upon abuse; without remembering the proverb, that says, An ass loaded with gold will skip over a mountain. A generous gift the rock will rift. We must fervently pray, and hammer away. I will give thee, is good; but, Here, take it, is better. Then, my master, who ought to lead me fair and softly by the hand, and persuade me with gentle words to whip myself into wool and carded cotton, declares, forsooth, that if he should once take me in hand, he will tie me naked to a tree, and double the allowance of stripes. These angry gentlemen ought to consider it is not only a squire, but a governor whom they desire to flog himself, as if it was no more than drinking after cherries. Let them learn, let them learn, with a vengeance, how to entreat and beg with good-breeding; for all seasons are not the same; and a man is not always in good-humour; here am I ready to burst with vexation to see the rent in my green coat, and they must needs come and desire me to whip myself with good will, when, God knows, I am as far from doing it with good will, as I am from turning Turk[175].’
‘Nevertheless, friend Sancho,’ said the duke, ‘if your heart does not become softer than a ripe fig, you shall finger no government of mine. It would be a fine scheme, indeed, if I should send to my islanders a cruel, flinty-hearted governor, who would not melt at the tears of damsels in affliction; nor at the entreaties of wise, imperious, ancient sages and inchanters! In a word, Sancho, you must either consent to whip yourself, or be whipped, or lay aside all thoughts of being a governor.’—‘My good lord,’ replied the squire, ‘will not they give me two days to consider and determine what will be for the best?’—‘By no means,’ cried Merlin: ‘on this very spot, and this very instant, the business must be discussed; otherwise Dulcinea will return to the cave of Montesinos, and the appearance of a country-wench; whereas, if you comply, she will, in her present form, be transported to the Elysian fields, where she must reside until the number of the stripes be accomplished.’
‘Go to, honest Sancho,’ said the duchess, ‘pluck up your spirits, and behave like a grateful squire that has eaten the bread of Signior Don Quixote, who is intitled to the service and acknowledgments of us all, by his amiable disposition and sublime chivalry. Say Aye, my son, to this same flagellation, and let the devil fetch the devil; leave fear to the coward; for a stout heart quails misfortune, as you very well know.’
To these exhortations Sancho made no reply; but addressing himself to Merlin, with his usual extravagance, ‘Good, your worship, pray tell me, Signior Merlin, the meaning of one thing: a certain courier devil came here with a message to my master, from Signior Montesinos, desiring him to stay in this place until he should come up; for he would teach him a way to disinchant my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso; and hitherto we have seen no such person?’ To this interrogation Merlin replied, ‘That devil, friend Sancho, is an ignorant blockhead, and a very great knave. I sent him hither in quest of your master; not with a message from Montesinos, but from myself; for Montesinos is still in his cave, planning, or rather expecting his disinchantment, the worst of which is still to come; but if he owes you any thing, or you have any business to transact with him, I will bring you face to face wherever you shall appoint. In the mean time, dispatch, and give your consent to this discipline; which, I assure you, will greatly redound to the advantage both of your soul and body: to your soul, from the charity of the undertaking; and to your body, as I know you are of a florid complexion, and will be the better for losing a little blood.’
‘What a number of leeches have we got in this world!’ said Sancho; ‘the very inchanters are physicians; but since every body says so, although I cannot perceive it myself, I am content to give myself three thousand three hundred lashes, on condition that I may give them when and where I shall think proper, without being confined to any certain time, or rate of allowance; and I will endeavour to discharge the debt as soon as possible, that the world may enjoy the beauty of the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, since, contrary to my former belief, she appears to be really beautiful. I likewise covenant that I shall not be obliged to fetch blood with the scourge, and that in case I should chance to be whipped by the officers of justice[176], every lash so received shall enter into the tale: Item, lest I should commit a mistake in the number, Signior Merlin, who knows every thing, shall take care to reckon them, and give me to understand how far I have fallen short, or exceeded the appointed score.’—‘There will be no occasion to apprize you of the overplus,’ said Merlin; ‘for as soon as the number shall be compleated, the Lady Dulcinea will be disinchanted, and come, out of pure gratitude, to return thanks, and even a recompence to the charitable Sancho for his good work. You need not, therefore, make any scruple about the superplus or the deficiency; nor will Heaven allow me to defraud any person, even of a single hair.’—‘A God’s name, then,’ cried Sancho, ‘I consent in my tribulation; I say, I accept of the penance on the conditions aforesaid.’
Scarce had Sancho pronounced these last words, when the musick of the waits began to play again, and an infinite number of muskets were discharged, while Don Quixote, hanging about Sancho’s neck, imprinted a world of kisses on his cheeks and forehead; the duke and duchess, and all the by-standers, expressed the utmost pleasure, the car began to move, and the beauteous Dulcinea, in passing, bowed to their graces, and made a profound curtsy to Sancho.
About this time the chearful smiling morn advanced; the flowerets of the field, with heads erect, diffused their fragrance; and the liquid chrystal of the rills murmuring among the variegated pebbles, went sliding on to pay its tribute to the rivers, that waited to receive their customary dues: the joyous earth, the splendid firmament, the buxom air, and light unclouded; each singly, and all together joined, prognosticated plainly, that the day, which trod upon Aurora’s skirts, would be serene and fair. The duke and duchess, extremely well satisfied with the chace, as well as with the ingenious and fortunate execution of their design, returned to the castle, with full intention to perform the sequel of their jest, than which no real adventure could have given them more delight.
Footnote 174:
_Disciplinante de lux_, is a cant phrase, applied to those who are exposed to publick shame.
Footnote 175:
Literally, _cacique_, which was the appellation given to Indian princes.
Footnote 176:
The other translators have interpreted _mosqueo_ into a fly-flap, which is undoubtedly one of his meanings; but as it likewise signifies flagellation at the cart’s tail, I have taken it in this last acceptation, which, I think, heightens the humour of the passage.
CHAP. IV. WHICH GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF THE PERILOUS AND INCONCEIVABLE ADVENTURE OF THE AFFLICTED DUENNA, ALIAS THE COUNTESS TRIFALDI— TOGETHER WITH A LETTER WHICH SANCHO PANZA WROTE TO HIS WIFE TERESA PANZA.
The duke’s steward was a man of humour and ingenuity, who acted the part of Merlin, and adjusted all the apparatus of the foregoing adventure; for he composed the verses, and directed a page to represent Dulcinea; finally, under the auspices of his lord and lady, he projected another of the most agreeable and strange fancy that could possibly be conceived.
Next day the duchess asking Sancho if he had begun the task of the penance, which he was to undergo for the disinchantment of Dulcinea, he answered in the affirmative, and said, he had that same night given himself five lashes; but when she enquired about the instrument with which they were inflicted, he owned they were applied with his hand. ‘That is rather clapping than lashing,’ replied her grace; ‘and I take it for granted, the sage Merlin will not be content with such delicacy; it will be absolutely necessary that honest Sancho should make a scourge of briars, or use a switch that will make him feel it; for learning is not acquired without pain, and the liberty of such an high-born lady as Dulcinea is not to be purchased for a trifle.’ To this remonstrance Sancho replied, ‘I wish your grace would lend me some convenient whip, or ragged rope’s end, which would do the business without giving me a great deal of pain; for I would have your grace to know, that although I am a labouring man, my flesh has more of the cotton than the mat weed in it; and there is no reason that I should destroy myself for another’s advantage.’—‘In good time be it,’ answered the duchess; ‘to-morrow morning I will give you a scourge that will fit you to an hair, and agree as well with the tenderness of your flesh, as if it was its own brother.’
This affair being adjusted, ‘My lady,’ said Sancho Panza, ‘your highness must know I have writ a letter to my wife Teresa Panza, giving an account of all that hath befallen me since we parted: here it is in my bosom, and wants nothing but a superscription. I wish your grace, in your great understanding, would read it; for, in my mind, it smacks of the governor; I mean, of the manner in which governors ought to write.’—‘And who was the inditer?’ said the duchess. ‘Who should indite it, sinner that I am, but myself!’ answered the squire. ‘Did you likewise write it yourself?’ replied her grace. ‘I did not so much as think of any such matter,’ said Sancho; ‘for the truth is, I can neither read nor write, though I know very well how to set my mark.’—‘Let us see this epistle,’ quoth the duchess, ‘in which, I dare say, you have displayed the quality and extent of your understanding.’
Then Sancho pulling an open letter from his bosom, the duchess took and read it to this effect.
SANCHO’S LETTER TO HIS WIFE TERESA PANZA.
‘If I have been finely lashed, I have been well mounted; If I have obtained a good government, it has cost me a good whipping. This, Teresa, thou wilt not now understand, but shalt learn some other opportunity. Know, Teresa, I am determined thou shalt ride in a coach, which is a resolution pat to the purpose; for any other way of travelling is fit for none but cats. A governor’s lady you shall be, and I would fain see the best of them tread upon thy heels. I have sent thee a green hunting suit, which was a present from my Lady Duchess. Make it up into a petticoat and jacket for our daughter. My master Don Quixote, as I have heard in this country, is a sensible madman, and a diverting fool, and I myself am nothing short of him in these respects. We have been in the cave of Montesinos, and the sage Merlin has pitched upon me to disinchant the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, who in your parts is called Aldonza Lorenzo; with three thousand three hundred stripes, lacking five, which I am to give myself, she will be as much disinchanted as the mother that bore her. Thou shalt not mention a syllable of this to any person whatsoever; for if you go to seek advice about your own concerns, one will say it is white, and another swear ’tis black.’
A few days hence I shall set out for my government, whither I go with a most outrageous desire of getting money; and I am told, this is the case with all new governors. I will feel the pulse of it, and give thee notice whether or no thou shalt come and live with me.
Dapple is in good health, and sends his most hearty commendations: I believe I shall not forsake him even if they should make me the Grand Turk. My Lady Duchess kisses thy hand a thousand times: return the compliment with two thousand; for, as my master says, Nothing is so reasonable and cheap as good manners. It has not pleased God that I should stumble upon another portmanteau with a hundred crowns, as heretofore; but let that give thee no uneasiness, my dear Teresa, for he is safe who has good cards to play; and what is amiss will come out in the washing of this same government. One thing, I own, gives me great concern: I am told, that if once I taste it, I shall be apt to eat my fingers; and should that be the case, it will be no cheap bargain; though the lame and the paralytick enjoy a sort of canonry in the alms they receive. Wherefore, one way or another, thou wilt certainly be rich and fortunate. The Lord make thee so, as he very well may, and preserve for thy service thy husband the governor.
‘SANCHO PANZA.
‘From the Duke’s Castle, July 20, 1614.’
The Duchess having read the letter to an end, ‘In two circumstances,’ said she, ‘the honest governor is a little out of the way. First, in saying or insinuating, that the government was bestowed upon him, in return for the stripes he must undergo; whereas he knows, and cannot deny, that when my Lord Duke promised him the island, nobody thought of any such thing as stripes in the world: Secondly, he discovers an avaricious disposition, and I should not like to see him a skin flint; for greediness bursts the bag, and a covetous governor will do very ungoverned justice.’—‘I did not write with that intention,’ answered the squire: ‘and if your ladyship thinks this is not a proper letter, there is nothing to do but tear it and write another, which perhaps will be still worse, if it be left to my own numbskull.’—‘No, no,’ cried the duchess, ‘this will do very well, and must be shewn to the duke.’
Accordingly, repairing to a garden, where they were to dine that day, she communicated Sancho’s epistle to the duke, who perused it with infinite pleasure. Here they went to dinner, and after the cloth was taken away, and they had entertained themselves a good while with the savoury conversation of Sancho, their ears were suddenly invaded with the dismal sound of a fife and a hoarse unbraced drum: all the company were startled at this confused, martial, and melancholy musick, especially Don Quixote, whose emotion would not allow him to sit quiet. With regard to Sancho, all that can be said is, that he was driven by fear to his usual shelter, the sides or skirts of the duchess: for the sound they heard was really and truly horrible and dreary. In the midst of this confusion and surprize, which took hold on all present, they saw two men enter the garden, in mourning-cloaks, so large and long that they trailed upon the ground. These figures were employed in beating two large drums, which were likewise covered with black, and they were accompanied by a fifer as black and dismal as themselves, and followed by a personage of gigantick stature, rolled rather than cloathed in a cassock of the blackest hue, furnished with a train of unmeasurable length. Over this cassock, his body was girded and crossed with a broad black belt, from which depended an immense scymitar, with hilt and sheath of the same sable colour. His face was covered with a black, transparent veil, through which appeared a huge and bushy beard as white as snow; and in walking he kept time to the sound of the drums, with great gravity and composure. In a word, his tallness, his demeanour, his melancholy dress, and his attendants, were sufficient to surprize, and did surprize, all those who beheld him, without knowing the nature of the scheme. With the said solemnity of personification he advanced in order to kneel before the duke, who, with the rest of the company, received him standing; but his grace would by no means hear his address until he rose. The prodigious spectre complied with his desire and stood upright; then unveiling his face, and displaying the largest, whitest, thickest, and most stupendous beard that ever human eyes beheld, he fixed his eyes upon the duke, and in a grave, sonorous voice, extracted and discharged from his ample and dilated chest, pronounced, ‘Most high and mighty prince, I am Trifaldin of the Snowy Beard, squire to the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise distinguished by the appellation of the afflicted duenna: from her I bring a message to your grace, requesting that your magnificence would be pleased to give her leave and opportunity to enter and declare in person her mishap; which is the strangest and the newest that ever the most hapless imagination could conceive; and first of all, she wants to know if the valiant and invincible knight Don Quixote de La Mancha now resides within your castle; for in quest of him, she is come a-foot and fasting from the kingdom of Candaya to these your territories: a circumstance which might and ought to be deemed a miracle, or at least effected by the power of inchantment. She is now at the gate of this fortress or pleasure-house, and only waits for your permission to come in.’
So saying, he hemmed; and with both hands stroaking his beard from top to bottom, waited with great composure for the duke’s reply, which was this: ‘Worthy Squire Trifaldin of the Snowy Beard, many days are passed since we have been apprized of the misfortune of my Lady Countess Trifaldi, on whom the inchanters have intailed the epithet of the afflicted duenna; well may you, stupendous squire, desire her to come in; and here is the valiant knight Don Quixote de La Mancha, from whose generous disposition she may securely promise herself all manner of aid and protection; and you may likewise give her to understand, in my name, that if my assistance be necessary, it shall not be wanting; for I think myself obliged to grant it, as being a knight, to which title is annexed and belongs, that maxim of assisting the fair-sex with all our might, especially widowed, reduced, and afflicted duennas, like her ladyship.’ Trifaldin hearing this declaration, bent his knee to the ground, and making a signal to the fifer and drums to repeat the same note, and resume the same pace with which they entered, he retired from the garden, leaving the whole company astonished at his presence and deportment.
Then the duke turning to Don Quixote, ‘In a word, renowned knight,’ said he, ‘it is not in the power of all the clouds of ignorance and malice to conceal or obscure the light of valour and of virtue. This observation I make, because your excellency has been scarce six days in this castle, when, the melancholy and afflicted come in quest of you from the most distant and sequestered countries, not in coaches or on dromedaries, but a-foot and fasting, confident of finding in that most valiant arm the remedy and cure of their toils and misfortunes: thanks to your illustrious exploits, which pervade and encircle the whole habitable globe.’
‘My Lord Duke,’ replied the knight, ‘I wish that same pious ecclesiastick was here at present; he, who at your grace’s table, the other day, expressed so much ill-will and such an inveterate grudge to knights-errant, that he might see with his own eyes whether or not such knights are of any service in this world; or at least, be fully convinced that the distressed and disconsolate, overwhelmed with extraordinary woes, and enormous misfortunes, do not go for redress to the houses of learned men, to the mansions of parish priests, nor to the knight who never dreamed of going beyond the limits of his own estate; nor to the idle courtier, who would rather enquire about news, that he might have the pleasure of repeating and retailing them, than endeavour to perform actions and exploits for others to perpetuate and record: the redress of grievances, the support of the necessitous, the protection of damsels, and the consolation of widows, are found in no set of people more than in knights-errant; that I am one of these, I return infinite thanks to Heaven, and shall cheerfully undergo whatever danger and disgrace may befall me in the course of such an honourable exercise. Let this duenna approach, and beg what boon she shall desire, I will commit her cause to the strength of my arm, and the intrepid resolution of my aspiring soul.’
CHAP. V. IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE AFFLICTED DUENNA.
The duke and duchess were exceedingly rejoiced to see Don Quixote’s behaviour correspond so well with their design. Sancho interposing, ‘I wish,’ said he, ‘this Madam Duenna may not throw some stumbling-block in the way of my government; for I have heard an apothecary of Toledo, who talked like any goldfinch, observe, that nothing good could happen where duennas interfered. Lord help us! what a spite that same apothecary had to the whole tribe; from whence I conclude that seeing duennas of all qualities and degrees whatsoever are offensive and impertinent, what must those be who are afflicted, which they say is the case with this Trifaldis[177], or three-tailed countess? for, in my country, skirts and tails, and tails and skirts, are the same thing.’—‘Hold your tongue, friend Sancho,’ said Don Quixote: ‘this lady, who is come in quest of me from remote countries, cannot be one of those to whom the apothecary alluded, especially as she is a countess; and when ladies of that rank serve as duennas, it must be under queens and empresses; for in their own houses they are honoured with the title of Ladyship, and have other duennas in their service.’
To this remark Donna Rodriguez, who was present, replied, ‘My lady duchess has duennas in her service, who might have been countesses, had it pleased fortune; but the law’s measure is the king’s pleasure; and let no body speak disrespectfully of duennas, especially of those who are ancient and maidens; for although I am not of that class, I can easily perceive and comprehend the advantage a maiden duenna has over one that is a widow: and he that undertakes to hear us, will have no easy talk to perform.’—‘And yet, for all that,’ replied Sancho, ‘if my barber’s word may be taken, you duennas require so much to be shorn, that—You had better not stir the porridge though it stick to the pot.’—‘The squires are always our enemies,’ answered Donna Rodriguez: ‘they are imps of the antichamber, who are every minute making a jest of us; and except when they are at prayers, which is not often the case, their whole time is spent in back-biting, disinterring our bones, and interring our reputation. But let met tell those moving blocks, that, in spite of all they can do, we will live in the world, aye, in noble families, though we should die of hunger, and clothe our delicate or indelicate bodies with a black shroud, as they cover or shade a dunghill with tapestry on a day of procession. In good faith! if I were allowed, and the time required it, I could demonstrate not only to those who are now present, but likewise to the whole world, that there is no kind of virtue which does not center in a duenna.’—‘I believe there is reason, and a great deal of reason, in what the worthy Donna Rodriguez observes,’ said the duchess; ‘but she must wait for a proper opportunity to appear in behalf of herself and other duennas, and confute the ill opinion of that malicious apothecary, as well as to eradicate those sentiments from the breast of the mighty Sancho Panza.’ To this remark the squire replied: ‘Since the fumes of a governor have expelled the vapours of a squire, I value not all the duennas upon earth a fig’s end.’
They would have proceeded with this duennian conference, had not they heard again the sound of the fife and drums, which announced the entrance of the afflicted duenna. The duchess asked the duke, if it would be proper to advance and receive her, as she was a countess and person of quality. ‘With regard to her being a countess,’ said Sancho, before the duke could reply, ‘it would be right for your graces to go and receive her; but in respect to her being a duenna, I think you should not move a step.’—‘Who taught thee to interfere in such matters?’ said Don Quixote. ‘Who, Signior?’ replied Sancho, ‘I interfere, because I am qualified to interfere, as a squire who has learned all the punctilios of courtesy in the school of your worship, who is the most courteous and best-bred knight that ever the province of courtesy produced; and in these matters, as I have heard your worship observe, the game is as often lost by a card too many as one too few; but a word to the wise is sufficient.’—‘It is even so as Sancho has remarked,’ said the duke; ‘let us first see a specimen of the countess, and from that sample consider what courtesy she deserves.’
At that instant the fifer and drummers entered as before:—and here the author concludes this short chapter, in order to begin another with the sequel of the same adventure, which is among the most remarkable of the whole history.
END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.
Footnote 177:
_Faldis_, in Spain, signifies skirts.
VOLUME THE FOURTH.