ling the truth. But proceed, and shorten the story, because you are on the way to not concluding for another two days."
"To please me," said the duchess, "he must not shorten it; rather, he must tell it in the fashion that he knows, even if he does not finish in six days, and if it were to take that long, in my opinion they would be the best days I'd ever spent in my life."
"Well, then, Senores," Sancho continued, "I say that this nobleman, and I know him like I know my own hands because it's only the distance of a crossbow shot from my house to his, gave an invitation to a farmer who was poor but honorable."
"Go on, brother," the cleric said at this point. "You're on the way to not finishing your story until you're in the next world."
"I'll stop when I'm less than halfway there, God willing," responded Sancho. "And so, I say that when this farmer came to the house of this nobleman, and may his soul rest in peace because he's dead now, and he died the death of an angel from what people tell me, since I wasn't present at the time because I had gone to Tembleque to work in the harvest--"
"On your life, my son, return quickly from Tembleque, and without burying the nobleman, and unless you want more funerals, finish your story."
"Well, the fact of the matter is," replied Sancho, "that when the two of them were ready to sit down at the table, and it seems to me I can see both of them now as clear as ever..."
The duke and duchess greatly enjoyed the annoyance the good cleric was displaying at the delays and pauses used by Sancho in the recounting of his story, but Don Quixote was consumed with rage and fury.
"And so I say," said Sancho, "that, like I said, when the two of them were going to sit down at the table, the farmer insisted that the nobleman should sit at the head of the table, and the nobleman also insisted that the farmer should sit there because in his house his orders had to be followed; but the farmer, who was proud of his courtesy and manners, refused to do it, until the nobleman became angry, and putting both hands on his shoulders, he forced him to sit down, saying:
'Sit down, you imbecile; wherever I sit will be the head of the table for you.'
And that's my story, and I don't believe it was out of place here."
Don Quixote turned a thousand different colors that looked like marbling on his dark skin, and the duke and duchess, having understood Sancho's sly intent, hid their laughter so that Don Quixote would not lose his temper; and in order to change the subject and keep Sancho from further insolence, the duchess asked Don Quixote what news he had of the lady Dulcinea, and if he had recently sent her any giants or malefactors as presents, for surely he had defeated a good number of them. To which Don Quixote responded:
"Senora, my misfortunes, although they had a beginning, will never have an end. I have vanquished giants, and I have sent villains and malefactors to her, but where can they find her if she has been enchanted and transformed into the ugliest peasant girl anyone can imagine?"
"I don't know," said Sancho Panza. "To me she looks like the most beautiful creature in the world, at least, as far as speed and jumping are concerned, I know that no acrobat could compete with her; by my faith, Senora Duchess, she can leap from the ground onto the back of a donkey just like a cat."
"Have you seen her enchanted, Sancho?" asked the duke.
"Of course I've seen her!" responded Sancho. "Who the devil else but me was the first to catch on to this matter of enchantment? She's as enchanted as my father!"
The ecclesiastic, who heard talk of giants, villains, and enchantments, realized that this must be Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose history was the duke's customary reading, for which he had often reprimanded him, saying that it was foolishness to read such foolishness; and knowing that what he suspected was true, he spoke to the duke with a good deal of anger, saying:
"Your Excellency, Senor, must give an accounting to Our Lord for what this good man does. I imagine that this Don Quixote, or Don Half-wit, or whatever his name is, is not so great a fool as Your Excellency wants him to be when you provide him with opportunities to continue his absurdities and nonsense."
And turning to Don Quixote, he said:
"And you, you simpleminded man, whoever put it into your head that you are a knight errant and defeat giants and capture villains? Go now in peace, and in peace I shall say to you: return to your home, and rear your children, if you have any, and tend to your estate, and stop wandering the world and wasting your time and being a laughingstock to all who know you and all who do not. Where the devil did you get the idea that there once were knights errant or that there are any now? Where are there giants in Spain, or malefactors in La Mancha, or enchanted Dulcineas, or any of the endless nonsense that people tell about you?"
Don Quixote listened attentively to the words of that venerable man, and seeing that he had fallen silent, and without regard for the duke and duchess, he rose to his feet, and with an angry countenance and a wrathful face, he said...
But this response deserves its own chapter.
CHAPTER XXXII
Regarding the response that Don Quixote gave to his rebuker, along with other events both grave and comical
Don Quixote, then, rose to his feet, and trembling from head to toe like quicksilver, he spoke quickly and with great agitation, saying:
"The place where I am now, and the presence in which I find myself, and the respect I always have had, and have now, for the vocation your grace professes, bind and restrain the censure of my righteous anger; and for the reasons I have said, and because I know that everyone knows that the weapons of men in cassocks are the same as those of women, which is to say, their tongues, I shall with mine enter into equal combat with your grace, from whom one ought to have expected good counsel rather than base vituperation. Holy and well-intentioned rebukes require different circumstances and demand different occasions: at least, your having rebuked me in public, and so harshly, has gone beyond all the bounds of legitimate reproof, which is based more on gentleness than on asperity, nor is it just, having no knowledge of the sin that is being rebuked, so thoughtlessly to call the sinner a simpleton and a fool. Otherwise tell me, your grace: for which of the inanities that you have seen in me do you condemn and revile me, and order me to return to my house and tend to it and my wife and my children, not knowing if I have one or the other? Or is it enough for clerics simply to enter other people's houses willy-nilly to guide the owners, even though some have been brought up in the narrow confines of a boarding school and never have seen more of the world than the twenty or thirty leagues of their district, and then suddenly decide to dictate laws to chivalry and make judgments concerning knights errant? Is it by chance frivolous, or is the time wasted that is spent wandering the world, not seeking its rewards but the asperities by which the virtuous rise to the seat of immortality?
If knights, and the great, the generous, and the highborn considered me a fool, I would take it as an irreparable affront; but that I am thought a simpleton by students who never walked or followed the paths of chivalry does not concern me in the least: a knight I am, and a knight I shall die, if it pleases the Almighty. Some men walk the broad fields of haughty ambition, or base and servile adulation, or deceptive hypocrisy, and some take the road of true religion; but I, influenced by my star, follow the narrow path of knight errantry, and because I profess it I despise wealth but not honor. I have redressed grievances, righted wrongs, punished insolence, vanquished giants, and trampled monsters; I am in love, simply because it is obligatory for knights errant to be so; and being so, I am not a dissolute lover, but one who is chaste and platonic. I always direct my intentions to virtuous ends, which are to do good to all and evil to none; if the man who understands this, and acts on this, and desires this, deserves to be called a fool, then your highnesses, most excellent Duke and Duchess, should say so."
"By God, that's wonderful!" said Sancho. "My lord and master, your grace should say no more on your own behalf, because there's nothing more to say, or to think, or to insist on in this world. Besides, since this gentleman is denying, and has denied, that there ever were knights errant in the world, or that there are any now, is it any wonder he doesn't know any of the things he's talked about?"
"By any chance, brother," said the ecclesiastic, "are you the Sancho Panza to whom, they say, your master has promised an insula?"
"I am," responded Sancho, "and I'm the one who deserves it as much as anybody else; I'm a 'Stay close to good men and become one'; and I'm a 'Birds of a feather flock together'; and a 'Lean against a sturdy trunk if you want good shade.' I have leaned against a good master, and traveled with him for many months, and I'll become just like him, God willing; long life to him and to me, and there'll be no lack of empires for him to rule or insulas for me to govern."
"No, certainly not, Sancho my friend," said the duke, "for I, in the name of Senor Don Quixote, promise you the governorship of a spare one that I own, which is of no small quality."
"Down on your knees, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and kiss the feet of His Excellency for the great favor he has done you."
Sancho did so, and when the ecclesiastic saw this he rose from the table in a fury, saying:
"By the habit I wear, I must say that Your Excellency is as much a simpleton as these sinners. Consider that of course they must be mad, since the sane applaud their madness! Stay with them, Your Excellency, and for as long as they are in this house, I shall be in mine, and I exempt myself from reproving what I cannot remedy."
And without saying another word or eating another mouthful, he left, and the pleas of the duke and duchess did nothing to stop him, although the duke was prevented from saying very much by the laughter the ecclesiastic's importunate anger had caused in him. When he finished laughing, he said to Don Quixote:
"Senor Knight of the Lions, your grace has responded so nobly on your own behalf that there is no other satisfaction required, for although this appears to be an insult, it in no way is, because just as women cannot offer an insult, neither can ecclesiastics, as your grace knows better than I."
"That is true," responded Don Quixote, "and the reason is that one who cannot be insulted cannot insult anyone else. Women, children, and ecclesiastics, since they cannot defend themselves even if they have been offended, cannot receive an affront. Because the difference between an insult and an affront, as Your Excellency knows better than I, is that an affront comes from one who can commit it, and does so, and sustains it; an insult can come from anywhere, without being an affront. For example: a man is standing idly in the street; ten men arrive with weapons in their hands and strike him, and he draws his sword to perform his duty, but the number of his adversaries hinders this and does not allow him to carry out his intention, which is to take his revenge; this man has been insulted but not affronted. And another example will confirm the same thing: a man's back is turned, another comes up and strikes him, and having struck him, he flees and does not wait, and the other pursues but cannot overtake him; the one who was struck received an insult but not an affront, because an affront must be sustained. If the one who struck him, even if he did so surreptitiously, had drawn his sword and stood firm, facing his enemy, the man who was struck would be both insulted and affronted: insulted, because he was struck covertly; affronted, because the one who struck him sustained what he had done, not turning his back and standing firm. And so, according to the laws of this accursed dueling, I can be insulted but not affronted, because children are not aware of what they do, and women cannot flee, nor can they be expected to, and the same is true of those who hold positions in holy religion, because these three kinds of people lack both offensive and defensive weapons; consequently, although they naturally may be obliged to defend themselves, they are not capable of offending anyone. And although I said a little while ago that I could be insulted, now I say no, not in any manner, because one who cannot receive an affront is even less capable of committing one; for these reasons I should not be aggrieved, and I am not, by what that good man said to me; I wish only that he had stayed so that I could have convinced him of his error in thinking and saying that there were no knights errant in the world, and that there are none now, for if Amadis or any of his infinite descendants had heard him, I know it would not have gone well for his grace."
"I'll swear to that," said Sancho. "They would have slashed him open from top to bottom like a pomegranate or a very ripe melon. They were the right ones to put up with jokes like that! By my faith, I'm sure if Reinaldos de Montalban had heard that little man saying those things, he would have slapped him so hard across the mouth he wouldn't have said another word for three years. He should have tried it with them and seen if they'd let him get away!"
The duchess was weak with laughter when she heard Sancho speak, and in her opinion he was more amusing and even crazier than his master, an opinion held by many at the time. Don Quixote at last became calm, and the meal was concluded, and as the table was being cleared, four maidens came in, the first bearing a silver basin, the second a pitcher, also of silver, the third, carrying two very white, very thick towels on her shoulder, and the fourth, with her forearms bared, holding in her white hands--for they undoubtedly were white--a round cake of Neapolitan soap. The one with the basin approached and with charming grace and assurance placed the basin beneath Don Quixote's beard, and he, not saying a word, marveled at such a ceremony but believed that in this land it must be the custom to wash one's beard rather than one's hands, and so he extended his as much as he could, and at that moment the pitcher began to pour, and the maiden with the soap began to rub his beard very quickly, raising flakes of snow no less white than the lather, not only on his beard but all over the face and eyes of the obedient knight, who was obliged to close them.
The duke and duchess, who knew nothing about this, waited to see how so extraordinary a washing would end. The beard-washing maiden, when she had covered him with lather to the depth of a span, pretended there was no more water, and she told the one with the pitcher to go for some because Senor Don Quixote would be waiting. She did so, and Don Quixote was left there, the strangest and most laughable figure that anyone could imagine.
All those present, and there were many, were watching him, and when they saw that he had a neck half a vara long, and a complexion more than moderately dark, and closed eyes, and a beard full of soap, it was truly astonishing and a sign of great astuteness that they could hide their laughter; the trickster maidens kept their eyes lowered, not daring to look at their master and mistress, who were torn between anger and laughter and did not know how to respond: to punish the girls for their boldness or reward them for the pleasure they had received at seeing Don Quixote in that condition.
Finally the maiden with the pitcher returned, and they finished washing Don Quixote, and then the girl with the towels very calmly wiped and dried him; then all four of them curtsied, and made obeisance to him at the same time, and attempted to leave, but the duke, to keep Don Quixote from realizing it was a joke, called to the maiden with the basin, saying:
"Come and wash me, and be careful you don't run out of water."
The girl, who was shrewd and diligent, approached and placed the basin beneath the duke's beard as she had with Don Quixote, and they quickly washed and soaped him thoroughly, and having wiped and dried him, they curtsied and left. Later it was learned that the duke had sworn that if they did not wash him as they had Don Quixote, he would punish their daring, but they cleverly changed his mind by soaping him so well.
Sancho paid careful attention to the ceremonies of the washing and said to himself:
"God save me! Can it be the custom in this land to wash the beards of squires as well as knights? Because by my soul I could use it, and even if they shaved me with a razor, I'd think it was a good thing."
"What are you saying, Sancho?" asked the duchess.
"I'm saying, Senora," he responded, "that in the courts of other princes I've always heard that when the tables are cleared they pour water over your hands, but not lather on your beard; and that's why it's good to live a long time, because then you see a lot; though they also say that if you have a long life, you go through a lot of bad times, though going through one of these washings is more pleasure than trouble."
"Don't worry, Sancho my friend," said the duchess. "I'll have my maidens wash you, and even put you in the tub, if necessary."
"Just my beard will satisfy me," responded Sancho, "at least for now; later on, God's will be done."
"Butler," said the duchess, "see to whatever our good Sancho wants, and obey his wishes to the letter."
The butler responded that Senor Sancho would be served in everything, and having said this, he left to eat and took Sancho with him, while the duke and duchess and Don Quixote remained at the table, speaking of many different matters, but all of them touching on the practice of arms and on knight errantry.
The duchess asked Don Quixote to depict and describe, for he seemed to have an excellent memory, the beauty and features of Senora Dulcinea of Toboso, so famous for her beauty that the duchess understood she must be the most beautiful creature in the world, and even in all of La Mancha. Don Quixote sighed when he heard what the duchess had commanded, and he said:
"If I could take out my heart and place it before the eyes of your highness, here on this table, on a plate, it would spare my tongue the effort of saying what can barely be thought, because in it Your Excellency would see her portrayed in detail; but why should I begin now to depict and describe, point by point and part by part, the beauty of the peerless Dulcinea? That is a burden worthy of shoulders other than mine, an enterprise that should be undertaken by the brushes of Parrhasius, Timanthus, and Appelles and the chisels of Lysippus1 to paint and engrave her on tablets, marble, and bronze, and by Ciceronian and Demosthenian rhetoric to praise her."
"What does Demosthenian mean, Senor Don Quixote?" asked the duchess. "That is a word I have never heard before in all my days."
"Demosthenian rhetoric," responded Don Quixote, "is the same as sayin