mpleted? Will the disenchantment of Dulcinea take place?"
"As for the cave," was the response, "there is much to say, for it has something of both: Sancho's lashes will go slowly, and the disenchantment of Dulcinea will be duly effected."
"I do not wish to know more," said Don Quixote, "for when I see Dulcinea disenchanted, I shall think that all the good fortune I could wish for has come all at once."
The final questioner was Sancho, and what he asked was:
"By any chance, head, will I have another governorship? Will I ever escape a squire's poverty? Will I see my wife and children again?"
The response was:
"You will govern in your house, and if you return there, you will see your wife and children, and when you stop serving, you will stop being a squire."
"By God, that's good!" said Sancho Panza. "I could have told myself that: the prophet Old Chestnut couldn't have said more."
"Animal," said Don Quixote, "what response do you want? Is it not enough that this head has given answers that correspond to what is asked of it?"
"Yes, it's enough," responded Sancho, "but I'd like it to declare more and tell me more."
With this the questions and answers came to an end, but not the amazement felt by everyone except the two friends of Don Antonio, who were privy to the secret. Cide Hamete Benengeli wished to explain the matter immediately in order to curb the astonishment of those who might think that some magical and extraordinary mystery was contained in the head, and so he tells us that Don Antonio Moreno, in imitation of another head he had seen in Madrid, which had been fabricated by an engraver, had this one made in his own house for his own entertainment and to astound the ignorant; it was constructed in this fashion: the tabletop was of wood painted and varnished to look like jasper, and the base on which it rested was made of the same material, with four eagle's talons projecting from it for greater stability. The head, which resembled a carved portrait bust of a Roman emperor cast in bronze, was completely hollow, as was the tabletop into which it fit so perfectly that there was no sign of their joining. The base of the table was also hollow, corresponding to the throat and chest of the head, and all this connected to another chamber beneath the room where the head was located. Through the entire hollow of the base, tabletop, throat, and chest of the portrait bust ran a tube of tinplate that was very precisely fitted and could not be seen by anyone. Posted in the corresponding chamber below was the man who would respond, his mouth up against the tube, so that, as if the tube were an ear trumpet, one voice would travel down and the other would travel up in clear, well-articulated words, and in this way it was not possible to discover the deception. Don Antonio's nephew, an astute and clever student, was the responder; having been told by his uncle who would come into the room with him to question the head that day, it was easy for him to respond quickly and accurately to the first question; he responded to the others by conjecture and, since he was clever, with cleverness.
Cide Hamete goes on to say that this marvelous device lasted ten or twelve days, but word spread throughout the city that Don Antonio had an enchanted head in his house that would answer every question asked of it, and fearing that the rumors would reach the ears of the alert guardians of our Faith, he informed the inquisitors of the matter and was ordered to dismantle it and not to use it in the future lest it cause turmoil among the ignorant common people; but in the opinion of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, the head was still enchanted and responsive, more to the satisfaction of Don Quixote than of Sancho.
The gentlemen of the city, in order to please Don Antonio and to entertain Don Quixote and give him the opportunity to reveal his madness, arranged to hold a tilting of the ring in six days' time, but it did not take place because of an accident that will be recounted later. Don Quixote wanted to go out into the city in a simple manner, and on foot, fearing that if he went on horseback, he would be pursued by boys, and so he and Sancho, and two servants offered to him by Don Antonio, went out for a walk.
As he was going down a street, Don Quixote happened to look up, and over a door he saw written, in very large letters: Books Printed Here, 5 which made him very happy because he had never visited a print shop, and he wished to know what it was like. He went in with his entourage, and he saw them printing in one place, correcting in another, typesetting here, revising there, in short, all of the procedures that can be seen in large printing houses. Don Quixote approached one section and asked what they were doing there; the workmen told him, he marveled, and moved on. He went up to another workman and asked him what he was doing. He responded:
"Senor, this gentleman here"--and he pointed to a rather serious man of fine appearance and figure--"has translated a Tuscan book into our Castilian language, and I'm setting the type so that it can be printed."
"What is the title of the book?" asked Don Quixote.
To which the translator replied:
"Senor, in Tuscan the book is called Le Bagatele."6
"And what does le bagatele mean in our Castilian?" asked Don Quixote.
"Le bagatele," said the translator, "would be like our saying the playthings, and though this book has a humble name, it contains and includes very good and substantive things."
"I," said Don Quixote, "know a little Tuscan, and take pride in singing some stanzas by Ariosto. But tell me, Senor--and I do not say this because I wish to test your grace's abilities but simply out of curiosity--in your translating, has your grace ever come across the word pignata?"
"Yes, many times," responded the translator.
"And how does your grace translate it into Castilian?" asked Don Quixote.
"How would I translate it," replied the translator, "except by saying stew pot?"
"By God," said Don Quixote, "how well your grace knows the Tuscan language! I would wager a good sum that where the Tuscan says piace, your grace says please in Castilian, and where it says piu, you say more, and su you render as above, and giu as below."
"Yes, I do, certainly," said the translator, "because those are the corresponding words."
"And I shall be so bold as to swear," said Don Quixote, "that your grace is not well-known in the world, which is always unwilling to reward rare talents and praiseworthy efforts. What abilities are lost there! What talents ignored! What virtues scorned! But despite all this, it seems to me that translating from one language to another, unless it is from Greek and Latin, the queens of all languages, is like looking at Flemish tapestries from the wrong side, for although the figures are visible, they are covered by threads that obscure them, and cannot be seen with the smoothness and color of the right side; translating easy languages does not argue for either talent or eloquence, just as transcribing or copying from one paper to another does not argue for those qualities. And I do not wish to infer from this that the practice of translating is not deserving of praise, because a man might engage in worse things that bring him even less benefit. From this reckoning I except two famous translators: one is Dr. Cristobal de Figueroa, for his Pastor Fido, and the other is Don Juan de Jaurigui, for his Aminta, 7 where they happily bring into question which is the translation and which the original. But tell me, your grace: is this book being printed at your expense or have the rights already been sold to a bookseller?"
"I am printing it at my own expense," responded the translator, "and expect to earn at least a thousand ducados with this first printing, which will consist of two thousand copies that can easily be sold for six reales each."
"Your grace is certainly good at calculations!" responded Don Quixote. "But it seems you do not know how printers collude or the favors they do for one another. I promise that when you find yourself burdened with two thousand copies of the book, your body will be so exhausted it will disconcert you, especially if the book is slightly out of the ordinary and not at all risque."
"And?" said the translator. "Would your grace prefer that I give it to a bookseller, who'll pay me three maravedis for the rights and think he's doing me a favor? I don't print my books to achieve fame in the world, because I'm already well-known for my work; I want profit: without it, fame isn't worth a thing."
"God grant your grace good fortune," responded Don Quixote.
And he moved to another section, where he saw that they were correcting sheets from a book entitled Light of the Soul, 8 and when he saw it he said:
"These are the kinds of books, although there are a good number of them, which ought to be printed, because there are countless sinners, and infinite illumination is needed for so many who are unenlightened."
He moved on and saw that they were also correcting another book, and when he asked its title, they responded that it was called the Second Part of the Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha, written by somebody from Tordesillas.9
"I have already heard of this book," said Don Quixote, "and by my conscience, the truth is I thought it had already been burned and turned to ashes for its insolence; but its day of reckoning will come, as it does to every pig,10 for feigned histories are good and enjoyable the closer they are to the truth or the appearance of truth, and as for true ones, the truer they are, the better."
And having said this, and showing some signs of displeasure, he left the printing house. And that same day, Don Antonio arranged for him to be taken to see the galleys along the coast, which made Sancho very happy because he had never seen any before. Don Antonio informed the cuatralbo 11 that he would be bringing his famous guest, Don Quixote of La Mancha, about whom the cuatralbo and all the residents of the city had heard, to see the galleys that afternoon; and what happened to him on board will be recounted in the following chapter.
CHAPTER LXIII
Regarding the evil that befell Sancho Panza on his visit to the galleys, and the remarkable adventure of the beautiful Morisca
Don Quixote meditated at length on the response of the enchanted head, never realizing the deception, and always concluding with the promise, which he regarded as certain, of Dulcinea's disenchantment. He returned to it again and again and rejoiced, believing he would soon see the promise fulfilled; and Sancho, although he had despised being governor, as has already been said, still wished to give orders and be obeyed, for command, even mock command, brings this misfortune with it.
In short, that afternoon their host, Don Antonio Moreno, and his two friends, along with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to see the galleys. The cuatralbo had been advised of their most welcome visit, since it meant seeing the famous pair, Don Quixote and Sancho, and as soon as they reached the harbor all the galleys took down their canopies, and flageolets began to sound; then a skiff covered with rich tapestries and pillows of scarlet velvet was lowered into the water, and as soon as Don Quixote set foot in it the flagship fired its midship cannon, and the other galleys did the same, and when Don Quixote climbed the starboard ladder, the oarsmen and the entire crew cheered him, as was customary when a distinguished person boarded a galley, repeating, "Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!" three times. The admiral general, which is what we shall call him, for he was a distinguished gentleman from Valencia, gave him his hand, then embraced Don Quixote, saying:
"I shall mark this day with a white stone because it is one of the best I think I shall ever have in my life, for on it I have seen Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, who demonstrates that all the valor of knight errantry is epitomized and exemplified in his person."
Don Quixote responded with words no less courteous, delighted beyond measure to find himself treated so nobly. They all went to the stern, which was beautifully adorned, and they sat on the side benches; the boatswain passed along the midship gangway and signaled on his whistle for the oarsmen to strip to the waist,1 which they did instantly. Sancho was stunned to see so many people undressed, especially when he saw the canopy lowered so quickly it seemed to him that all the devils were working there, but this was mere child's play compared to what I shall tell you now. Sancho was sitting on the pole that held the canopy, next to the stern rower2 on the starboard side, who had already received his instructions, and he seized Sancho and lifted him up in his arms, while all the oarsmen stood ready, and beginning on the starboard side, the arms of the rowers passed him and tossed him from bench to bench with so much speed that poor Sancho's eyes could no longer see, and he undoubtedly thought the demons were carrying him off, and the oarsmen did not stop until they had returned him along the port side back to the stern. The poor man was bruised, breathless, perspiring, and unable to imagine what had happened to him.
Don Quixote, who saw Sancho's wingless flight, asked the admiral general if these were ceremonies used with those who boarded galleys for the first time, because if they were, he, who had no intention of adhering to them, did not wish to engage in the practice, and he made a vow to God that if anyone attempted to seize him and toss him, he would tear the soul out of his body, and saying this, he stood and grasped his sword.
At that moment they raised the canopy, and with an extremely loud noise they dropped the lateen yard. Sancho thought the sky had come loose from its frame and was about to fall on his head, and filled with fear, he lowered his head and put it between his legs. Don Quixote was frightened as well, and he trembled and hunched his shoulders, and the color drained from his face. The crew hoisted the yard as quickly and noisily as they had lowered it, and they did it all without a word, as if they had neither voice nor breath. The boatswain signaled that they should weigh anchor, and jumping onto the middle of the gangway with his whip or scourge, he began to flog the backs of the oarsmen, and the ship slowly put out to sea. When Sancho saw the movement of so many red feet, for that is what he thought the oars were, he said to himself:
"These are the things that really are enchanted, not the ones my master says. What have these unfortunate men done to be whipped in this way, and how does one man, who walks around here whistling, dare to flog so many people? I say this must be hell, or purgatory at least."
Don Quixote, who saw how attentively Sancho observed what was going on, said to him:
"Ah, Sancho, my friend, how quickly and at how little cost you could, if you wished, strip down to your waist, and sit among these gentlemen, and conclude the disenchantment of Dulcinea! For surrounded by the misery and suffering of so many, you would not feel your own so much; moreover, it might be that the wise Merlin would count each of these lashes, since they are administered by an able hand, as ten of those you must finally give yourself."
The admiral general wanted to ask about the lashes and the disenchantment of Dulcinea, but just then a sailor called out:
"Montjuich3 is signaling that there's an oared vessel along the coast to the west."
When he heard this, the admiral general jumped onto the gangway and said:
"Ho, my boys, don't let it get away! The watchtower must be signaling us about a pirate brigantine out of Algiers!"
The other three galleys approached the flagship to learn their orders. The admiral general commanded that two of them head out to sea while he and the other ship sailed close to shore, and in this way the brigantine would not escape. The oarsmen pulled on their oars, propelling the galleys with so much fury that they seemed to fly. When the galleys heading out to sea had gone about two miles, they caught sight of a brigantine that they judged to have about fourteen or fifteen rowers' benches, which was true; when the brigantine sighted the galleys, it tried to escape, intending and hoping to get away on account of its speed, but things went badly for her because the flagship was one of the fastest vessels sailing the sea, and as it was overtaking the brigantine, it became clear to her captain that she could not escape, and he wanted the crew to lower their oars and surrender in order not to anger the captain in command of our galleys. But fate, having something else in store, ordained that when the flagship had come so close that those on the brigantine could hear the voices telling them to surrender, two drunken Toraquis, which is to say, two Turks out of the fourteen on board the brigantine, fired their muskets and killed two soldiers who were on our foredecks. Seeing this, the admiral general swore not to leave anyone on the other vessel alive, but as he began a furious assault, the brigantine slipped away under the flagship's oars. The galley moved a good distance forward; those in the brigantine saw that they had escaped and set sail as the galley was turning, and again, with sails and oars, they attempted to flee, but their diligence did not help them as much as their audacity had hurt them, because the flagship overtook them in little more than half a mile, then lowered its oars onto the brigantine and captured everyone on board alive.
At this point the other two galleys approached, and all four of them, with their prize, returned to shore, where an infinite number of people were waiting, impatient to know what they were bringing in. The admiral general dropped anchor close to land and learned that the viceroy of the city was on shore. He sent the skiff for him and ordered the lateen yard lowered so that he could immediately hang the pirate captain and the rest of the Turks he had captured, who numbered some thirty-six persons, all of them valiant and most of them Turkish musketeers. The admiral general asked which of them was the captain of the brigantine, and the response came in the Castilian tongue from one of the captives, a Spanish renegade, as it turned out:
"Senor, this young man whom you see here is our captain."
And he pointed to one of the handsomest and most gallant boys the human mind could imagine. His age seemed less than twenty. The admiral general asked him:
"Tell me, ill-advised dog, who urged you to kill my soldiers when you saw it was impossible to escape? Is that the respect you show to flagships? Don't you know that temerity is not valor? Doubtful outcomes should make men bold, not rash."
The captain wanted to respond, but for the moment the admiral general could not hear his response because he went to receive the viceroy who was boarding the galley, along with some of his servants and several people from the city.
"It was a fine chase, Senor Admiral General," said the viceroy.
"Your Excellency will soon see ho