And so he goes on with his story, saying that the day Don Quixotegave the counsels to Sancho, the same afternoon after dinner he handedthem to him in writing so that he might get some one to read them tohim. They had scarcely, however, been given to him when he let themdrop, and they fell into the hands of the duke, who showed them to theduchess and they were both amazed afresh at the madness and wit of DonQuixote. To carry on the joke, then, the same evening theydespatched Sancho with a large following to the village that was toserve him for an island. It happened that the person who had him incharge was a majordomo of the duke's, a man of great discretion andhumour- and there can be no humour without discretion- and the samewho played the part of the Countess Trifaldi in the comical way thathas been already described; and thus qualified, and instructed byhis master and mistress as to how to deal with Sancho, he carriedout their scheme admirably. Now it came to pass that as soon as Sanchosaw this majordomo he seemed in his features to recognise those of theTrifaldi, and turning to his master, he said to him, "Senor, eitherthe devil will carry me off, here on this spot, righteous andbelieving, or your worship will own to me that the face of thismajordomo of the duke's here is the very face of the Distressed One."

Don Quixote regarded the majordomo attentively, and having doneso, said to Sancho, "There is no reason why the devil should carrythee off, Sancho, either righteous or believing- and what thou meanestby that I know not; the face of the Distressed One is that of themajordomo, but for all that the majordomo is not the Distressed One;for his being so would involve a mighty contradiction; but this is notthe time for going into questions of the sort, which would beinvolving ourselves in an inextricable labyrinth. Believe me, myfriend, we must pray earnestly to our Lord that he deliver us bothfrom wicked wizards and enchanters."

"It is no joke, senor," said Sancho, "for before this I heard himspeak, and it seemed exactly as if the voice of the Trifaldi wassounding in my ears. Well, I'll hold my peace; but I'll take care tobe on the look-out henceforth for any sign that may be seen to confirmor do away with this suspicion."

"Thou wilt do well, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and thou wilt let meknow all thou discoverest, and all that befalls thee in thygovernment."

Sancho at last set out attended by a great number of people. Hewas dressed in the garb of a lawyer, with a gaban of tawny wateredcamlet over all and a montera cap of the same material, and mounteda la gineta upon a mule. Behind him, in accordance with the duke'sorders, followed Dapple with brand new ass-trappings and ornamentsof silk, and from time to time Sancho turned round to look at his ass,so well pleased to have him with him that he would not have changedplaces with the emperor of Germany. On taking leave he kissed thehands of the duke and duchess and got his master's blessing, which DonQuixote gave him with tears, and he received blubbering.

Let worthy Sancho go in peace, and good luck to him, GentleReader; and look out for two bushels of laughter, which the account ofhow he behaved himself in office will give thee. In the meantimeturn thy attention to what happened his master the same night, andif thou dost not laugh thereat, at any rate thou wilt stretch thymouth with a grin; for Don Quixote's adventures must be honouredeither with wonder or with laughter.

It is recorded, then, that as soon as Sancho had gone, Don Quixotefelt his loneliness, and had it been possible for him to revoke themandate and take away the government from him he would have done so.The duchess observed his dejection and asked him why he wasmelancholy; because, she said, if it was for the loss of Sancho, therewere squires, duennas, and damsels in her house who would wait uponhim to his full satisfaction.

"The truth is, senora," replied Don Quixote, "that I do feel theloss of Sancho; but that is not the main cause of my looking sad;and of all the offers your excellence makes me, I accept only thegood-will with which they are made, and as to the remainder Ientreat of your excellence to permit and allow me alone to wait uponmyself in my chamber."

"Indeed, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess, "that must not be;four of my damsels, as beautiful as flowers, shall wait upon you."

"To me," said Don Quixote, "they will not be flowers, but thornsto pierce my heart. They, or anything like them, shall as soon entermy chamber as fly. If your highness wishes to gratify me stillfurther, though I deserve it not, permit me to please myself, and waitupon myself in my own room; for I place a barrier between myinclinations and my virtue, and I do not wish to break this rulethrough the generosity your highness is disposed to display towardsme; and, in short, I will sleep in my clothes, sooner than allowanyone to undress me."

"Say no more, Senor Don Quixote, say no more," said the duchess;"I assure you I will give orders that not even a fly, not to say adamsel, shall enter your room. I am not the one to undermine thepropriety of Senor Don Quixote, for it strikes me that among hismany virtues the one that is pre-eminent is that of modesty. Yourworship may undress and dress in private and in your own way, as youplease and when you please, for there will be no one to hinder you;and in your chamber you will find all the utensils requisite to supplythe wants of one who sleeps with his door locked, to the end that nonatural needs compel you to open it. May the great Dulcinea del Tobosolive a thousand years, and may her fame extend all over the surface ofthe globe, for she deserves to be loved by a knight so valiant andso virtuous; and may kind heaven infuse zeal into the heart of ourgovernor Sancho Panza to finish off his discipline speedily, so thatthe world may once more enjoy the beauty of so grand a lady."

To which Don Quixote replied, "Your highness has spoken like whatyou are; from the mouth of a noble lady nothing bad can come; andDulcinea will be more fortunate, and better known to the world bythe praise of your highness than by all the eulogies the greatestorators on earth could bestow upon her."

"Well, well, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess, is nearlysupper-time, and the duke is is probably waiting; come let us go tosupper, and retire to rest early, for the journey you made yesterdayfrom Kandy was not such a short one but that it must have caused yousome fatigue."

"I feel none, senora," said Don Quixote, "for I would go so far asto swear to your excellence that in all my life I never mounted aquieter beast, or a pleasanter paced one, than Clavileno; and Idon't know what could have induced Malambruno to discard a steed soswift and so gentle, and burn it so recklessly as he did."

"Probably," said the duchess, "repenting of the evil he had doneto the Trifaldi and company, and others, and the crimes he must havecommitted as a wizard and enchanter, he resolved to make away with allthe instruments of his craft; and so burned Clavileno as the chiefone, and that which mainly kept him restless, wandering from land toland; and by its ashes and the trophy of the placard the valour of thegreat Don Quixote of La Mancha is established for ever."

Don Quixote renewed his thanks to the duchess; and having supped,retired to his chamber alone, refusing to allow anyone to enter withhim to wait on him, such was his fear of encountering temptations thatmight lead or drive him to forget his chaste fidelity to his ladyDulcinea; for he had always present to his mind the virtue ofAmadis, that flower and mirror of knights-errant. He locked the doorbehind him, and by the light of two wax candles undressed himself, butas he was taking off his stockings- O disaster unworthy of such apersonage!- there came a burst, not of sighs, or anything belyinghis delicacy or good breeding, but of some two dozen stitches in oneof his stockings, that made it look like a window-lattice. Theworthy gentleman was beyond measure distressed, and at that momenthe would have given an ounce of silver to have had half a drachm ofgreen silk there; I say green silk, because the stockings were green.

Here Cide Hamete exclaimed as he was writing, "O poverty, poverty! Iknow not what could have possessed the great Cordovan poet to callthee 'holy gift ungratefully received.' Although a Moor, I know wellenough from the intercourse I have had with Christians that holinessconsists in charity, humility, faith, obedience, and poverty; butfor all that, I say he must have a great deal of godliness who canfind any satisfaction in being poor; unless, indeed, it be the kind ofpoverty one of their greatest saints refers to, saying, 'possess allthings as though ye possessed them not;' which is what they callpoverty in spirit. But thou, that other poverty- for it is of thee Iam speaking now- why dost thou love to fall out with gentlemen and menof good birth more than with other people? Why dost thou compel themto smear the cracks in their shoes, and to have the buttons of theircoats, one silk, another hair, and another glass? Why must their ruffsbe always crinkled like endive leaves, and not crimped with a crimpingiron?" (From this we may perceive the antiquity of starch andcrimped ruffs.) Then he goes on: "Poor gentleman of good family!always cockering up his honour, dining miserably and in secret, andmaking a hypocrite of the toothpick with which he sallies out into thestreet after eating nothing to oblige him to use it! Poor fellow, Isay, with his nervous honour, fancying they perceive a league offthe patch on his shoe, the sweat-stains on his hat, the shabbinessof his cloak, and the hunger of his stomach!"

All this was brought home to Don Quixote by the bursting of hisstitches; however, he comforted himself on perceiving that Sanchohad left behind a pair of travelling boots, which he resolved towear the next day. At last he went to bed, out of spirits and heavy atheart, as much because he missed Sancho as because of theirreparable disaster to his stockings, the stitches of which hewould have even taken up with silk of another colour, which is oneof the greatest signs of poverty a gentleman can show in the course ofhis never-failing embarrassments. He put out the candles; but thenight was warm and he could not sleep; he rose from his bed and openedslightly a grated window that looked out on a beautiful garden, and ashe did so he perceived and heard people walking and talking in thegarden. He set himself to listen attentively, and those below raisedtheir voices so that he could hear these words:

"Urge me not to sing, Emerencia, for thou knowest that ever sincethis stranger entered the castle and my eyes beheld him, I cannot singbut only weep; besides my lady is a light rather than a heavy sleeper,and I would not for all the wealth of the world that she found ushere; and even if she were asleep and did not waken, my singingwould be in vain, if this strange AEneas, who has come into myneighbourhood to flout me, sleeps on and wakens not to hear it."

"Heed not that, dear Altisidora," replied a voice; "the duchess isno doubt asleep, and everybody in the house save the lord of thy heartand disturber of thy soul; for just now I perceived him open thegrated window of his chamber, so he must be awake; sing, my poorsufferer, in a low sweet tone to the accompaniment of thy harp; andeven if the duchess hears us we can lay the blame on the heat of thenight."

"That is not the point, Emerencia," replied Altisidora, "it isthat I would not that my singing should lay bare my heart, and thatI should be thought a light and wanton maiden by those who know notthe mighty power of love; but come what may; better a blush on thecheeks than a sore in the heart;" and here a harp softly touchedmade itself heard. As he listened to all this Don Quixote was in astate of breathless amazement, for immediately the countlessadventures like this, with windows, gratings, gardens, serenades,lovemakings, and languishings, that he had read of in his trashy booksof chivalry, came to his mind. He at once concluded that some damselof the duchess's was in love with him, and that her modesty forced herto keep her passion secret. He trembled lest he should fall, andmade an inward resolution not to yield; and commending himself withall his might and soul to his lady Dulcinea he made up his mind tolisten to the music; and to let them know he was there he gave apretended sneeze, at which the damsels were not a little delighted,for all they wanted was that Don Quixote should hear them. So havingtuned the harp, Altisidora, running her hand across the strings, beganthis ballad:

O thou that art above in bed,Between the holland sheets,A-lying there from night till morn,With outstretched legs asleep;

O thou, most valiant knight of allThe famed Manchegan breed,Of purity and virtue moreThan gold of Araby;

Give ear unto a suffering maid,Well-grown but evil-starr'd,For those two suns of thine have litA fire within her heart.

Adventures seeking thou dost rove,To others bringing woe;Thou scatterest wounds, but, ah, the balmTo heal them dost withhold!

Say, valiant youth, and so may GodThy enterprises speed,Didst thou the light mid Libya's sandsOr Jaca's rocks first see?

Did scaly serpents give thee suck?Who nursed thee when a babe?Wert cradled in the forest rude,Or gloomy mountain cave?

O Dulcinea may be proud,That plump and lusty maid;For she alone hath had the powerA tiger fierce to tame.

And she for this shall famous beFrom Tagus to Jarama,From Manzanares to Genil,From Duero to Arlanza.

Fain would I change with her, and giveA petticoat to boot,The best and bravest that I have,All trimmed with gold galloon.

O for to be the happy fairThy mighty arms enfold,Or even sit beside thy bedAnd scratch thy dusty poll!

I rave,- to favours such as theseUnworthy to aspire;Thy feet to tickle were enoughFor one so mean as I.

What caps, what slippers silver-laced,Would I on thee bestow!What damask breeches make for thee;What fine long holland cloaks!

Title: Don Quixote
Author: Miqeul de Cervantes
Viewed 406672 times

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