Don Quixote

d Don Quixote, "as long as your words are not intended to instill fear in me, for if you are afraid, then you are true to the person you are, and if I am not, then I am true to mine."

"That's not it, sinner that I am in the sight of God!" responded Sancho. "It's just that I'm absolutely certain and positive that this lady who says she's the queen of the great kingdom of Micomicon is no more a queen than my mother, because if she was who she says she is, she wouldn't go around hugging and kissing one of the men here at the inn, behind every door and every chance she gets."

Dorotea turned bright red at Sancho's words, because it was true that her husband, Don Fernando, had, on occasion, taken with his lips part of the prize his love had won, which Sancho had witnessed, and such boldness had seemed to him more appropriate to a courtesan than to the queen of so great a kingdom; she could not or would not say a word in response to Sancho, but allowed him to continue, and he did, saying:

"I'm saying this, Senor, because if after having traveled so many highways and byways, and gone through so many bad nights and worse days, the fruit of our labors is being plucked by someone taking his ease in this inn, then there's no reason for me to hurry and saddle Rocinante, and harness the donkey, and prepare the palfrey, because we'd be better off sitting still and doing nothing: let each whore tend to her spinning, and we'll eat."

Oh, Lord save me, but what a rage overcame Don Quixote when he heard his squire's discourteous words! It was so great, I say, that with precipitate voice and stumbling tongue and fire blazing from his eyes, he said:

"Oh, base, lowborn, wretched, rude, ignorant, foul-mouthed, ill-spoken, slanderous, insolent varlet! You have dared to speak such words in my presence and in the presence of these distinguished ladies, dared to fill your befuddled imagination with such vileness and effrontery? Leave my presence, unholy monster, repository of lies, stronghold of falsehoods, storehouse of deceits, inventor of iniquities, promulgator of insolence, enemy of the decorum owed to these royal persons. Go, do not appear before me under pain of my wrath!"

And saying this he scowled, puffed out his cheeks, looked all around him, and stamped his right foot very hard on the ground, all signs of the great anger raging in his heart. These words and furious gestures so frightened and terrified Sancho that he would have been overjoyed if the earth had opened up and swallowed him. And he did not know what to do except to turn and leave the enraged presence of his master. But the perceptive Dorotea, who by this time understood Don Quixote's madness very well, said, in order to pacify his rage:

"Do not be indignant, Senor Knight of the Sorrowful Face, at the foolish things your good squire has said, because it may be that he does not say them without reason, nor can we suspect that his good understanding and Christian conscience allow him to bear false witness against anyone, and so we must believe, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that since, as you have said, Senor Knight, all things in this castle happen and occur through enchantment, it might be, as I say, that Sancho saw, by diabolical means, what he says he saw, which so offends my good name."

"By Almighty God," said Don Quixote, "I swear that your highness has hit the mark, and that some evil illusion appeared before this sinner Sancho, making him see what it would have been impossible to see except by way of enchantment, for I know the goodness and innocence of this unfortunate man too well to think he would bear false witness against anyone."

"That is certainly the case," said Don Fernando, "and therefore, Senor Don Quixote, you ought to pardon him and receive him once more into the bosom of thy grace,2 sicut erat in principio, before these visions affected his judgment."

Don Quixote responded that he would pardon his squire, and the priest went to find Sancho, who came in very humbly, fell to his knees, and begged his master for his hand; Don Quixote gave it to him, allowed him to kiss it, gave him his blessing, and said:

"Now you will know with certainty, Sancho my son, that what I have so often told you is true: everything in this castle occurs by means of enchantment."

"I do believe that," said Sancho, "except for what happened with the blanket, because that really happened by ordinary means."

"Do not believe it," responded Don Quixote, "because if that were true, I would have avenged you then, and even now; but I could not, then or now, and did not see anyone upon whom to wreak my vengeance for the affront to you."

Everyone wanted to know what had happened with the blanket, and the innkeeper told them, in full detail, about Sancho Panza flying through the air, which was cause for no small laughter, and Sancho would have been embarrassed to no less a degree if his master had not reassured him again that it had been enchantment; Sancho's foolishness, however, never was so great that he did not believe it was the pure and absolute truth, with no admixture of deception, that he had been tossed in a blanket by flesh-and-blood people, not dreamed or imagined phantoms, as his master believed and affirmed.

The illustrious company had already spent two days at the inn, and thinking it was time to leave, they devised a scheme that would spare Dorotea and Don Fernando the trouble of returning with Don Quixote to his village under the guise of restoring Queen Micomicona to the throne and would allow the priest and barber to take him back with them, as they desired, and treat his madness at home. Their scheme was to arrange with an ox driver who happened to be passing by that he would carry Don Quixote home in this manner: they prepared something like a cage with crisscrossed bars, large enough to hold Don Quixote comfortably, and then Don Fernando and his companions, the servants of Don Luis, the officers of the Brotherhood, and the innkeeper, all of them under the direction and guidance of the priest, covered their faces and disguised themselves in a variety of ways so that Don Quixote would not think they were the people he had seen in the castle.

When they had done this, they silently entered the room where Don Quixote lay sleeping, resting after his recent conflicts. They approached as he slept soundly, suspecting nothing, and seized him firmly and tied his hands and feet tightly, so that when he awoke with a start he could not move or do anything but feel astonishment and wonder at the strange visages he saw before him; he immediately found an explanation in what his delusional imagination continually represented to him, believing that all those figures were phantoms from the enchanted castle and that he, beyond any doubt, had also been enchanted, for he could not move or defend himself, which was exactly what the priest, who had devised the plan, thought would happen. Only Sancho, of all those present, was in his right mind and not pretending to be someone else, and although he was not far from being afflicted by the same disease his master had, he still could recognize who those masked figures were, but he did not dare open his mouth until he saw how far the assault on Don Quixote, and his capture, would go; his master did not say a word either as he waited to see the outcome of this misfortune, and it was that the cage was brought in, Don Quixote was locked inside, and the bars were nailed in so firmly that they could not be quickly broken.

Then they lifted him to their shoulders, and as they left the room a fearful voice was heard, a voice as terrifying as the barber could make it--not the one with the packsaddle, the other one--and it said:

"O Knight of the Sorrowful Face! Grieve not at thy imprisonment, for it is needful in order to more quickly conclude the adventure to which thy great courage hath brought thee. And this will come to an end when the wrathful Manchegan lion shall be joined with the white Tobosan dove, and they have bowed their proud necks to the soft matrimonial yoke, and from their extraordinary union there shall issue forth into the light of the celestial orb brave pups that will imitate the rampant claws of their valiant father. And this shall happen before the pursuer of the fugitive nymph shall twice in his swift and natural course visit the shining images.3 And thou, O most noble and obedient squire who e'er had a sword in his belt, whiskers on his face, or an odor in his nose! Be not dismayed or saddened at seeing with thine own eyes the flower of chivalry carried away in this fashion; for soon, if it so pleaseth the Maker of the world, thou shalt see thyself so high and exalted, thou wilt not know thyself, nor shall the promises thy good master hath made to thee be broken. And I bring thee assurances from the wise Mentironiana4 that thy wages wilt be paid thee, as thou shalt soon see; follow the steps of thy valiant and enchanted knight, for it is fitting that thou goest to a place where you both shall be. Now, since it is not licit for me to say more, may God be with thee, and I shall return to the place that I know well."

And as he finished his prophecy, the barber raised his voice to so high a pitch and then lowered it to so quiet a whisper that even those who knew of the deceit almost believed the truth of what they were hearing.

Don Quixote was consoled by the prophecy he had heard, because he quickly grasped its entire meaning and saw that he was being promised a union in holy and sanctified matrimony with his beloved Dulcinea of Toboso, whose happy womb would give birth to pups, which is to say his sons, to the everlasting glory of La Mancha, and believing this firmly and completely, he raised his voice, heaved a great sigh, and said:

"O thou, whoever thou mayest be, who hath foretold such bliss for me! I implore thee that thou asketh the wise enchanter who controlleth my affairs not to allow me to perish in this prison where I am now being carried, until the joyous and incomparable promises made to me here hath been fulfilled; if these be true, I shall consider the sorrows of this my prison as glory, and these chains that bindeth me as ease and comfort, and this pallet where they hath lain me as not a hard field of battle but a soft and blissful nuptial bed. As for the consolation of Sancho Panza, my squire, I trusteth in his kindness and goodness and knoweth he will not leave me in good luck or bad; because if it should come to pass, either through his bad fortune or mine, that I canst not give him the insula, or other equivalent reward, which I hath promised him, at least his wages shall not be lost; for in my will, which hast already been made, I hath stated what he shall be given, according not to his many good services but to my limited means."

Sancho Panza bowed to him with deep respect and kissed both his hands because he could not kiss only one, since they were tied together.

Then the phantoms lifted the cage to their shoulders and placed it on the oxcart.





CHAPTER XLVII


Regarding the strange manner in which Don Quixote of La Mancha was enchanted, and other notable events



When Don Quixote saw himself caged in that manner and placed on a cart, he said:

"I have read many extremely serious histories of knights errant, but never have I read, or seen, or heard of enchanted knights being carried in this fashion and at the pace promised by these sluggish and dilatory animals; the knights are always transported through the air with remarkable speed, enclosed in a dark and doleful cloud, or riding a chariot of fire, or mounted on a hippogryph or some other similar beast; but being carried now on an oxcart, by God that leaves me in a state of confusion!1 Perhaps in these our modern times, however, chivalry and enchantments follow a path different from the one they followed in ancient times. It also might be that since I am a new knight in the world, the first to resuscitate the now forgotten practice of errant chivalry, new kinds of enchantments and new ways of transporting the enchanted have also been devised. What do you think, Sancho my son?"

"I don't know what I think," responded Sancho, "since I'm not as well-read as your grace in errant writings, but even so, I'd say and even swear that these phantoms wandering around here are not entirely Catholic."2

"Catholic? By my sainted father!" responded Don Quixote. "How can they be Catholic if they are all demons who have taken on fantastic bodies in order to come here and do this and bring me to this state? And if you wish to see the truth of this, touch them and feel them and you will see that they have no body but are composed of air, and are nothing more than appearance."

"By God, Senor," replied Sancho, "I have touched them, and this devil who's so busy here is stocky and well-fleshed, and has another trait that's very different from what I've heard about demons, because people say all demons stink of sulfur and brimstone and other bad odors, but this one smells of ambergris from half a league away."

Sancho said this about Don Fernando, who, being so noble, must have smelled just as Sancho said.

"Do not be surprised at this, Sancho my friend," responded Don Quixote, "because I can tell you that devils know a great deal, and although they bring odors with them, they themselves do not smell at all because they are spirits, and if they do smell, it cannot be of pleasant things, but only of things that are foul and putrid. The reason is that since they, wherever they may be, carry hell with them and cannot find any kind of relief from their torments, and a pleasant odor is something that brings joy and pleasure, it is not possible for them to have an agreeable smell. And so, if it seems to you that the demon you have mentioned smells of ambergris, either you are mistaken or he wants to deceive you by making you think he is not a demon."

All of these words passed between master and servant; fearing that Sancho would see through their deception, which he had already been very close to doing, Don Fernando and Cardenio decided to make their departure as brief as possible; they called the innkeeper aside and told him to saddle Rocinante and harness Sancho's donkey, which he did very quickly.

Meanwhile, the priest had reached an arrangement with the officers: they would accompany him to his village, and he would pay them a daily fee. Cardenio hung Don Quixote's shield on one side of Rocinante's saddlebow and the basin on the other; he signaled to Sancho to mount his donkey and lead Rocinante by the reins, and on each side of the cart he placed two officers with their flintlocks. But before the cart began to move, the innkeeper's wife, her daughter, and Maritornes came out to take their leave of Don Quixote, pretending to weep with sorrow at his misfortune, to which Don Quixote said:

"Weepeth not, good ladies, for all such adversities are innate to those who profess what I profess; and if these calamities didst not befall me, I wouldst not deem myself a famous knight errant, for such things ne'er happen to knights of little fame and renown, since there is no one in the world who remembereth them. But they do befall the valiant, for many princes and other knights envieth their virtue and courage, attempting to destroy virtuous knights by wicked means. Despite this, virtue is so powerful that through its own efforts, despite all the necromancy e'er invented by Zoroaster, it shall emerge victorious from every trial and shine its light on the world as the sun shineth down from heaven. Forgive me, beauteous ladies, if I hath offended you inadvertently, for willingly and knowingly I hath never done so to anyone; implore God that He taketh me from this prison where an evil enchanter hath placed me, and if I am freed, I ne'er shall forget the kindnesses you hath shown me in this castle but shall be grateful for them and recognize and repay them according to their merits."

While the ladies of the castle conversed with Don Quixote, the priest and barber took their leave of Don Fernando and his companions, and the captain and his brother, and all the contented ladies, especially Dorotea and Luscinda. Everyone embraced and agreed to send one another their news, and Don Fernando told the priest where he should write to inform him of what happened to Don Quixote, assuring him that nothing would make him happier than to know the outcome; he, in turn, would tell the priest everything that might be to his liking, from his marriage and Zoraida's baptism to Don Luis's fate and Luscinda's return home. The priest promised to do as he requested in the most punctual way. They embraced again, and again they exchanged promises.

The innkeeper came up to the priest and gave him some papers, say-ing that he had discovered them in the lining of the case that contained the novel of The Man Who Was Recklessly Curious, and since the owner had not come back for them, the priest could take them all, because he did not know how to read and did not want them. The priest thanked the innkeeper, and opening the papers, he saw that at the beginning of the manuscript it said The Novel of Rinconete and Cortadillo, 3 which led him to assume it was another novel and probably a good one, since The Man Who Was Recklessly Curious had also been good, and they might very well be by the same author, and so he kept it, intending to read it as soon as he was able.

The priest mounted his mule, as did his friend the barber, both of them wearing masks so they would not be recognized by Don Quixote, and they began to ride behind the cart. They rode in this order: first came the cart, led by its owner; at each side rode the officers, as we have said, holding their flintlocks; behind the cart came Sancho Panza on his donkey, leading Rocinante by the reins. Bringing up the rear were the priest and the barber on their large mules, their faces covered, as has been mentioned, and riding with a solemn and sober air, their pace no faster than that allowed by the very slow gait of the oxen. Don Quixote sat in the cage, his hands tied, his legs extended, his back leaning against the bars, and with so much silence and patience that he seemed not a man of flesh and blood, but a statue made of stone.

And so, slowly and silently, they rode some two leagues until they reached a valley that the ox driver thought would be a good place to rest and graze the oxen; he communicated this to the priest, but the barber said they should ride on a little farther because he knew that beyond a nearby rise was a valley that had more abundant and better grass than the one where the driver wanted to stop. They followed the barber's advice and continued their journey.

Just then the priest turned his head and saw that six or seven well-dressed and well-mounted men were riding behind them, and they soon overtook them, since they were traveling not at the slow and leisurely pace of the oxen, but like men who were riding on canons' mules and wanted to have their siestas at the inn that could be seen less than a league away. The diligent overtook the slothful, and courteous greetings were exchanged, and one of the newcomers, who was, in fact, a canon from Toledo and the master of those who accompanied him, seeing the orderly procession of the cart, the officers, Sancho, Rocinante, the priest, the barber, and particularly Don Qu