And so Anselmo was the most deliciously deceived man in the world: he himself led into his house the man who was the ruination of his name, believing he had been the instrument of his glory. Camila received him with an apparently crestfallen expression, although her soul rejoiced. This deception lasted some months until Fortune spun her wheel, the wickedness they had concealed with so much skill was made public, and Anselmo's reckless curiosity cost him his life.
CHAPTER XXXV
In which the novel of The Man Who Was Recklessly Curious is concluded
Only a little more of the novel remained to be read when a distraught Sancho Panza rushed out of the garret where Don Quixote slept, shouting:
"Come, Senores, come quickly and help my master, who's involved in the fiercest, most awful battle my eyes have ever seen! By God, what a thrust he gave to the giant, the enemy of the Senora Princess Micomicona, when he cut his head right off, just like a turnip!"
"What are you saying, brother?" said the priest, who had stopped reading the novel. "Are you in your right mind, Sancho? How the devil can what you say be true if the giant is two thousand leagues from here?"
Just then they heard a loud noise in the garret and the sound of Don Quixote shouting:
"Hold, thief, scoundrel, coward! I have you now, and your scimitar will be of little use to you!"
And he seemed to be slashing at the walls with his sword. Sancho said:
"Don't stand and listen, go in and stop the fight or help my master, though that won't be necessary because, no doubt about it, the giant must be dead by now and giving an accounting to God of his sinful life; I saw his blood running along the floor, and his head cut off and fallen to one side, a head the size of a big wineskin."
"Strike me dead," said the innkeeper, "if Don Quixote, or Don Devil, hasn't slashed one of the skins of red wine hanging at the head of his bed; the spilled wine must be what this good man thinks is blood."
And then he hurried into the room, and all the rest followed him, and they discovered Don Quixote in the strangest outfit in the world. He was in his shirt, which was not long enough in front to cover his thighs completely, and in back it was shorter by a span of six fingers; his legs were very long and thin, hairy, and not particularly clean; on his head he wore a red, greasy nightcap that belonged to the innkeeper; wrapped around his left arm was the blanket from the bed, toward which Sancho felt some animosity, for reasons he knew only too well; in his right hand he held his unsheathed sword and was slashing with it in all directions and shouting as if he really were fighting a giant. Best of all, his eyes were not open because he was sleeping and dreaming that he was doing battle with the giant, for his imagination of the adventure he was about to undertake was so intense that it made him dream he had already come to the kingdom of Micomicon and was already engaged in combat with his enemy. He had slashed the wineskins so many times with his sword, thinking he was slashing the giant, that the entire room was covered in wine. When he saw this, the innkeeper became so enraged that he threw himself on Don Quixote and began to give him so many blows with his fists that if Cardenio and the priest had not pulled him off, he alone would have ended the conflict with the giant; with it all, the poor knight did not awaken until the barber brought a large pot of cold water from the well and threw it at him all at once, which roused Don Quixote, but not enough for him to realize what he was doing.
Dorotea, who saw how scantily and tenuously he was dressed, did not wish to come in and watch the combat between her defender and her adversary.
Sancho looked everywhere on the floor for the giant's head, and when he did not find it, he said:
"Now I know that everything in this house is enchantment; the last time I stood on the very spot where I'm standing now, I was punched and beaten and I never knew who was doing it, and I never could see anybody, and now the head is nowhere to be found, though I saw it cut off with my very own eyes, and the blood ran out of the body like water from a fountain."
"What blood and what fountain are you talking about, you enemy of God and all his saints?" said the innkeeper. "Don't you see, you thief, that the blood and the fountain are only these slashed wineskins and the red wine flooding this room? I'd like to see the soul of whoever slashed them drowning in the floods of hell!"
"All I know," responded Sancho, "is that if I don't find that head, my luck will turn and my countship will dissolve away like salt in water."
Sancho awake was worse than his master asleep: such was the faith he had in the promises his master had made to him. The innkeeper despaired when he saw the slow wits of the squire and the damage done by the master, and he swore it would not be like the last time, when they left without paying; this time they could not claim the privileges of chivalry to keep from paying for both stays at the inn, including the cost of the patches he would have to put on the torn wineskins.
The priest was holding Don Quixote by the hands, and the knight, believing the adventure had been concluded and that he was before the Princess Micomicona, kneeled in front of the priest, saying:
"Now your highness, your noble and illustrious ladyship, may live in the certainty that from this day forth, this lowborn creature can do you no harm, and I, from this day forth, am released from the promise I made to you, for with the help of God on high and the favor of her for whom I live and breathe, I have kept the promise, and with great success."
"Didn't I tell you?" said Sancho when he heard this. "I told you I wasn't drunk: now you can see if my master hasn't slaughtered and salted that giant! Now it's for sure:1 my countship's on the way!"
Who would not have laughed at the foolishness of both master and servant? Everyone did except the innkeeper, who cursed his luck; but at last, with no small effort, the barber, Cardenio, and the priest returned Don Quixote to the bed, where he fell asleep, showing signs of great weariness. They left him sleeping and went out to the entrance to the inn to console Sancho Panza for not having found the giant's head, though it was more difficult for them to placate the innkeeper, who was in despair at the sudden demise of his wineskins. And the innkeeper's wife said, with great cries and shouts:
"It was an evil moment and a cursed hour when this knight errant came into my house; he costs me so much, I wish I'd never laid eyes on him. The last time, he left without paying the cost of a night, a meal, a bed, straw, and barley, for him and his squire and a horse and a donkey, saying that he was an adventuring knight, may God give him unlucky adventures, him and all the adventurers in the world, and that's why he wasn't obliged to pay anything, according to the tariff regulations of errant knighthood. Then, on his account, this other gentleman comes along and takes away my oxtail, and gives it back with more than two cuartillos' 2 worth of damage, with not a hair on it, so it's no good for the thing my husband wanted it for. And then, the finishing touch, he slashes my wineskins and spills my wine, and I only wish it was his blood that was spilled. Well, he won't get away with it! By the bones of my father and my mother's old white head, he'll pay me every cuarto 3 he owes or my name isn't what it is, and I'm not my parents' daughter!"
These words and others like them were said in great anger by the innkeeper's wife, and her good maid, Maritornes, assisted her in this. Her daughter said nothing, and from time to time she smiled. The priest restored calm by promising to do everything in his power to compensate them for their loss, the wineskins as well as the wine, and in particular the damage to the oxtail, which they valued so highly. Dorotea consoled Sancho Panza, promising him that as soon as it was certain his master had cut off the giant's head and she was peacefully ruling her kingdom again, she would give him the best countship in all the land. Sancho was comforted by this, and he assured the princess that she could be certain he had seen the head of the giant, who seemed to have a beard that came down to his waist, and if the head could not be found, it was because everything that happened in that house was enchantment, as he had learned the last time he stayed here. Dorotea said she believed him, and he should no
t worry; everything would be fine and turn out just as he wished.
When everyone was calm, the priest wanted to finish reading the novel because he saw that he had almost reached the end. Cardenio, Dorotea, and all the others asked him to finish it, and the priest, who wished to satisfy everyone and wanted to read it as well, continued the story.
And so, because of Anselmo's certainty regarding Camila's virtue, he led a carefree and contented life, and Camila intentionally showed coldness to Lotario so that Anselmo would believe her feelings toward him were the opposite of what they truly were; to give this even more weight, Lotario asked permission not to visit his friend's house anymore since it was clear that the sight of him troubled Camila a great deal, but the deluded Anselmo said that under no circumstances would he allow any such thing; in this way, in a thousand ways, Anselmo constructed his own dishonor, believing that he was creating his own delight.
In the meantime, the delight Leonela took in freely engaging in her love affair went so far that she cared about nothing else and pursued it without restraint, certain that her mistress would conceal what she did and even advise her how to carry on an affair without arousing too much suspicion. Finally, one night, Anselmo heard footsteps in Leonela's bedroom, and when he tried to go in to see whose they were, he found the door closed against him, which gave him an even greater desire to open it; he pushed so hard that it opened, and as he went in he saw a man leaping out the window to the street, and when he tried to hurry out to catch him or see who he was, he could do neither because Leonela threw her arms around him, saying:
"Be calm, Senor, don't be angry, you don't need to follow the man who left here; it really is my affair; in fact, he's my husband."
Anselmo did not believe her; instead, blind with rage, he took out his dagger and tried to stab Leonela, saying that if she did not tell him the truth, he would kill her. She was terrified, and not knowing what she was saying, she cried:
"Don't kill me, Senor, and I'll tell you things that are more important than you can imagine."
"Tell me now," said Anselmo, "or you're a dead woman."
"I can't now," said Leonela, "I'm too upset; wait until tomorrow, and then you'll hear things that will amaze you; but you can be sure that the man who jumped out the window is a young man of this city who has given his promise to marry me."
Anselmo grew calmer and was willing to wait the period of time she requested, for he did not think he would hear anything against Camila, he was so certain and sure of her virtue; so he went out of Leonela's bedroom and left her locked inside, saying she would not leave until she told him what she had to tell him.
Then he went to see Camila, and told her everything that had occurred, and said that her maid had promised to tell him great, important things. It goes without saying that Camila became alarmed, fearing, and with reason, that Leonela would tell Anselmo everything she knew about her infidelity; she did not have the courage to wait and see if her suspicions were true, and that same night, when she thought Anselmo was asleep, she gathered together the most precious jewels she had, and some money, and without being detected by anyone, she left her house and went to Lotario's; she told him what had happened and asked that he hide her, or that the two of them go where they would both be safe from Anselmo. Camila threw Lotario into such confusion that he could not say a word, much less decide what to do.
Finally, he decided to take Camila to a convent where one of his sisters was prioress. Camila agreed, and with the speed the situation demanded, Lotario took her to the convent and left her there, and he himself abandoned the city and told no one of his departure.
At dawn, Anselmo's desire to hear what Leonela wanted to tell him was so great, he did not even notice that Camila was not at his side but got up and went to the room where he had left the maid. He unlocked the door and went in but did not find Leonela there; he found only some sheets knotted together and tied to the window, a clear sign that she had used them to climb down and leave the house. Then he walked back to his own room very mournfully to tell Camila and was stunned not to find her in bed or anywhere in the house. He questioned the servants, but no one could answer his questions.
As he was looking for Camila, he happened to see the open chests and saw too that most of her jewels were missing from them, and this was when he became aware of the calamity and knew that Leonela was not the cause of his affliction. He did not even bother to finish dressing, but just as he was, sad and melancholy, he went to tell his friend Lotario about his misfortune. But when he did not find him, and the servants said Lotario had left in the night and taken with him all the money he had, Anselmo thought he would go mad. As a final blow, when he returned home all of the servants had gone, and his house was empty and deserted.
He did not know what to think, what to say, or what to do, but slowly his judgment began to return. He reflected on what had happened and saw himself deprived, in an instant, of his wife, his friend, and his servants, abandoned, it seemed to him, by heaven, and, above all, bereft of honor, for in Camila's absence he saw his ruination.
Finally he resolved, after a long while, to go to the village where he had stayed with his friend when he gave them the opportunity to devise that misfortune. He locked the doors of his house, mounted his horse, and set out with weakening courage; when he had traveled only half the distance, he was overwhelmed by his thoughts and had to dismount; he tied his horse's reins to a tree and dropped to the ground beneath it, heaving tender, pitiful sighs, and lay there until it was almost dark; then he saw a man on horseback riding toward him from the city, and after greeting him, he asked what the news was in Florence. The citizen responded:
"The strangest heard there in many days, because it is being said publicly that Lotario, the great friend of Anselmo the rich man, who lived near San Giovanni, ran off last night with Camila, Anselmo's wife, and Anselmo is nowhere to be found. All of this was disclosed by one of Camila's maids, who was discovered last night by the governor as she climbed down a sheet hanging from a window in Anselmo's house. The fact is that I don't know exactly how everything turned out; all I know is that the whole city is astonished by what happened, since it was not what anybody expected from their great friendship, for they were so close that people called them the two friends."
"Do you know, by any chance," said Anselmo, "where Lotario and Camila went?"
"I have no idea," said the Florentine, "although the governor has made every effort to find them."
"Then God go with you, Senor," said Anselmo.
"And with you," responded the Florentine, and he rode away.
At such calamitous news, Anselmo was on the verge not only of losing his mind but of ending his life. He struggled to his feet and reached the house of his friend, who still knew nothing of his misfortune, but when he saw Anselmo come in looking pallid, exhausted, and drawn, he realized that something very serious had happened. Anselmo immediately asked to be helped to his bed and to be given writing materials. This was done, and he was left lying in bed, the door closed, as he had requested. When he found himself alone, his mind became so burdened with thoughts of his misfortune that he knew his life was coming to an end, and so he decided to leave some explanation of his strange death; he began to write, but before he had finished putting down everything he wanted to say, his breath failed, and he yielded up his life to the grief caused by his reckless curiosity.
The master of the house, seeing that it was late and Anselmo had not called for him, decided to go in to find out if he was feeling better, and he found him facedown, half his body in bed and the other half slumped over the writing desk, the paper he had been writing on unsealed and the pen still in his hand. His host came over to him, having first called his name, and when Anselmo did not answer he grasped his hand, found it cold, and knew that he was dead. Shocked and grief-stricken, his friend summoned the household to see the misfortune that had befallen Anselmo, and finally he read the paper, written by Anselmo's own hand, which said:
A foolish and reckless desire took my life. If news of my death should reach Camila, she must know that I forgive her, for she was not obliged to perform miracles, and I had no need to ask her to; since I constructed my own dishonor, there is no reason to...
Anselmo wrote this far, making it clear that before he could end his thought, his life came to an end. The following day, his friend informed Anselmo's kin of his death; they already knew of his misfortune and of the convent where Camila was almost at the point of joining her husband on that inevitable journey, not on account of her husband's death, but because of what she had heard about her absent lover. It was said that although a widow, she did not wish to leave the convent, much less take vows to be a nun; then, a few days later, the news reached her that Lotario had died in the battle between Monsieur de Lautrec and the Great Captain Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordoba, which had just taken place in the kingdom of Naples, where Anselmo's friend, repentant too late, had fled;4 when Camila learned this, she took her vows, and not long afterward her life ended in the pitiless embrace of sorrow and melancholy. This was the end met by the three and born of such rash beginnings.
"This novel seems fine," said the priest, "but I cannot persuade myself that it is true; if it is invented, the author invented badly, because no one can imagine any husband foolish enough to conduct the costly experiment that Anselmo did. If this occurred between a lover and his lady, it might be plausible, but between a husband and his wife it seems impossible; as for the manner in which it was told, I did not find it displeasing."
CHAPTER XXXVI
Which recounts the fierce and uncommon battle that Don Quixote had with some skins of red wine, along with other unusual events that occurred in the inn 1
Just then the innkeeper, who was at the entrance to the inn, said: