PART I - CHAPTER XX.

by Miguel de Cervantes

　　OF THE UNEXAMPLED AND UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURE WHICH WAS ACHIEVED BY THEVALIANT DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WITH LESS PERIL THAN ANY EVER ACHIEVEDBY ANY FAMOUS KNIGHT IN THE WORLD"It cannot be, senor, but that this grass is a proof that there must behard by some spring or brook to give it moisture, so it would be well tomove a little farther on, that we may find some place where we may quenchthis terrible thirst that plagues us, which beyond a doubt is moredistressing than hunger."The advice seemed good to Don Quixote, and, he leading Rocinante by thebridle and Sancho the ass by the halter, after he had packed away uponhim the remains of the supper, they advanced the meadow feeling theirway, for the darkness of the night made it impossible to see anything;but they had not gone two hundred paces when a loud noise of water, as iffalling from great rocks, struck their ears. The sound cheered themgreatly; but halting to make out by listening from what quarter it camethey heard unseasonably another noise which spoiled the satisfaction thesound of the water gave them, especially for Sancho, who was by naturetimid and faint-hearted. They heard, I say, strokes falling with ameasured beat, and a certain rattling of iron and chains that, togetherwith the furious din of the water, would have struck terror into anyheart but Don Quixote's. The night was, as has been said, dark, and theyhad happened to reach a spot in among some tall trees, whose leavesstirred by a gentle breeze made a low ominous sound; so that, what withthe solitude, the place, the darkness, the noise of the water, and therustling of the leaves, everything inspired awe and dread; moreespecially as they perceived that the strokes did not cease, nor the windlull, nor morning approach; to all which might be added their ignoranceas to where they were.But Don Quixote, supported by his intrepid heart, leaped on Rocinante,and bracing his buckler on his arm, brought his pike to the slope, andsaid, "Friend Sancho, know that I by Heaven's will have been born in thisour iron age to revive revive in it the age of gold, or the golden as itis called; I am he for whom perils, mighty achievements, and valiantdeeds are reserved; I am, I say again, he who is to revive the Knights ofthe Round Table, the Twelve of France and the Nine Worthies; and he whois to consign to oblivion the Platirs, the Tablantes, the Olivantes andTirantes, the Phoebuses and Belianises, with the whole herd of famousknights-errant of days gone by, performing in these in which I live suchexploits, marvels, and feats of arms as shall obscure their brightestdeeds. Thou dost mark well, faithful and trusty squire, the gloom of thisnight, its strange silence, the dull confused murmur of those trees, theawful sound of that water in quest of which we came, that seems as thoughit were precipitating and dashing itself down from the lofty mountains ofthe Moon, and that incessant hammering that wounds and pains our ears;which things all together and each of itself are enough to instil fear,dread, and dismay into the breast of Mars himself, much more into one notused to hazards and adventures of the kind. Well, then, all this that Iput before thee is but an incentive and stimulant to my spirit, making myheart burst in my bosom through eagerness to engage in this adventure,arduous as it promises to be; therefore tighten Rocinante's girths alittle, and God be with thee; wait for me here three days and no more,and if in that time I come not back, thou canst return to our village,and thence, to do me a favour and a service, thou wilt go to El Toboso,where thou shalt say to my incomparable lady Dulcinea that her captiveknight hath died in attempting things that might make him worthy of beingcalled hers."When Sancho heard his master's words he began to weep in the mostpathetic way, saying:"Senor, I know not why your worship wants to attempt this so dreadfuladventure; it is night now, no one sees us here, we can easily turn aboutand take ourselves out of danger, even if we don't drink for three daysto come; and as there is no one to see us, all the less will there beanyone to set us down as cowards; besides, I have many a time heard thecurate of our village, whom your worship knows well, preach that he whoseeks danger perishes in it; so it is not right to tempt God by trying sotremendous a feat from which there can be no escape save by a miracle,and Heaven has performed enough of them for your worship in deliveringyou from being blanketed as I was, and bringing you out victorious andsafe and sound from among all those enemies that were with the dead man;and if all this does not move or soften that hard heart, let this thoughtand reflection move it, that you will have hardly quitted this spot whenfrom pure fear I shall yield my soul up to anyone that will take it. Ileft home and wife and children to come and serve your worship, trustingto do better and not worse; but as covetousness bursts the bag, it hasrent my hopes asunder, for just as I had them highest about getting thatwretched unlucky island your worship has so often promised me, I see thatinstead and in lieu of it you mean to desert me now in a place so farfrom human reach: for God's sake, master mine, deal not so unjustly byme, and if your worship will not entirely give up attempting this feat,at least put it off till morning, for by what the lore I learned when Iwas a shepherd tells me it cannot want three hours of dawn now, becausethe mouth of the Horn is overhead and makes midnight in the line of theleft arm.""How canst thou see, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "where it makes thatline, or where this mouth or this occiput is that thou talkest of, whenthe night is so dark that there is not a star to be seen in the wholeheaven?""That's true," said Sancho, "but fear has sharp eyes, and sees thingsunderground, much more above in heavens; besides, there is good reason toshow that it now wants but little of day.""Let it want what it may," replied Don Quixote, "it shall not be said ofme now or at any time that tears or entreaties turned me aside from doingwhat was in accordance with knightly usage; and so I beg of thee, Sancho,to hold thy peace, for God, who has put it into my heart to undertake nowthis so unexampled and terrible adventure, will take care to watch overmy safety and console thy sorrow; what thou hast to do is to tightenRocinante's girths well, and wait here, for I shall come back shortly,alive or dead."Sancho perceiving it his master's final resolve, and how little histears, counsels, and entreaties prevailed with him, determined to haverecourse to his own ingenuity and compel him, if he could, to wait tilldaylight; and so, while tightening the girths of the horse, he quietlyand without being felt, with his ass' halter tied both Rocinante's legs,so that when Don Quixote strove to go he was unable as the horse couldonly move by jumps. Seeing the success of his trick, Sancho Panza said:"See there, senor! Heaven, moved by my tears and prayers, has so orderedit that Rocinante cannot stir; and if you will be obstinate, and spur andstrike him, you will only provoke fortune, and kick, as they say, againstthe pricks."Don Quixote at this grew desperate, but the more he drove his heels intothe horse, the less he stirred him; and not having any suspicion of thetying, he was fain to resign himself and wait till daybreak or untilRocinante could move, firmly persuaded that all this came of somethingother than Sancho's ingenuity. So he said to him, "As it is so, Sancho,and as Rocinante cannot move, I am content to wait till dawn smiles uponus, even though I weep while it delays its coming.""There is no need to weep," answered Sancho, "for I will amuse yourworship by telling stories from this till daylight, unless indeed youlike to dismount and lie down to sleep a little on the green grass afterthe fashion of knights-errant, so as to be fresher when day comes and themoment arrives for attempting this extraordinary adventure you arelooking forward to.""What art thou talking about dismounting or sleeping for?" said DonQuixote. "Am I, thinkest thou, one of those knights that take their restin the presence of danger? Sleep thou who art born to sleep, or do asthou wilt, for I will act as I think most consistent with my character.""Be not angry, master mine," replied Sancho, "I did not mean to saythat;" and coming close to him he laid one hand on the pommel of thesaddle and the other on the cantle so that he held his master's leftthigh in his embrace, not daring to separate a finger's width from him;so much afraid was he of the strokes which still resounded with a regularbeat. Don Quixote bade him tell some story to amuse him as he hadproposed, to which Sancho replied that he would if his dread of what heheard would let him; "Still," said he, "I will strive to tell a storywhich, if I can manage to relate it, and nobody interferes with thetelling, is the best of stories, and let your worship give me yourattention, for here I begin. What was, was; and may the good that is tocome be for all, and the evil for him who goes to look for it--yourworship must know that the beginning the old folk used to put to theirtales was not just as each one pleased; it was a maxim of Cato Zonzorinothe Roman, that says 'the evil for him that goes to look for it,' and itcomes as pat to the purpose now as ring to finger, to show that yourworship should keep quiet and not go looking for evil in any quarter, andthat we should go back by some other road, since nobody forces us tofollow this in which so many terrors affright us.""Go on with thy story, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and leave the choiceof our road to my care.""I say then," continued Sancho, "that in a village of Estremadura therewas a goat-shepherd--that is to say, one who tended goats--which shepherdor goatherd, as my story goes, was called Lope Ruiz, and this Lope Ruizwas in love with a shepherdess called Torralva, which shepherdess calledTorralva was the daughter of a rich grazier, and this rich grazier-""If that is the way thou tellest thy tale, Sancho," said Don Quixote,"repeating twice all thou hast to say, thou wilt not have done these twodays; go straight on with it, and tell it like a reasonable man, or elsesay nothing.""Tales are always told in my country in the very way I am telling this,"answered Sancho, "and I cannot tell it in any other, nor is it right ofyour worship to ask me to make new customs.""Tell it as thou wilt," replied Don Quixote; "and as fate will have itthat I cannot help listening to thee, go on.""And so, lord of my soul," continued Sancho, as I have said, thisshepherd was in love with Torralva the shepherdess, who was a wild buxomlass with something of the look of a man about her, for she had littlemoustaches; I fancy I see her now.""Then you knew her?" said Don Quixote."I did not know her," said Sancho, "but he who told me the story said itwas so true and certain that when I told it to another I might safelydeclare and swear I had seen it all myself. And so in course of time, thedevil, who never sleeps and puts everything in confusion, contrived thatthe love the shepherd bore the shepherdess turned into hatred andill-will, and the reason, according to evil tongues, was some littlejealousy she caused him that crossed the line and trespassed on forbiddenground; and so much did the shepherd hate her from that time forwardthat, in order to escape from her, he determined to quit the country andgo where he should never set eyes on her again. Torralva, when she foundherself spurned by Lope, was immediately smitten with love for him,though she had never loved him before.""That is the natural way of women," said Don Quixote, "to scorn the onethat loves them, and love the one that hates them: go on, Sancho.""It came to pass," said Sancho, "that the shepherd carried out hisintention, and driving his goats before him took his way across theplains of Estremadura to pass over into the Kingdom of Portugal.Torralva, who knew of it, went after him, and on foot and barefootfollowed him at a distance, with a pilgrim's staff in her hand and ascrip round her neck, in which she carried, it is said, a bit oflooking-glass and a piece of a comb and some little pot or other of paintfor her face; but let her carry what she did, I am not going to troublemyself to prove it; all I say is, that the shepherd, they say, came withhis flock to cross over the river Guadiana, which was at that timeswollen and almost overflowing its banks, and at the spot he came tothere was neither ferry nor boat nor anyone to carry him or his flock tothe other side, at which he was much vexed, for he perceived thatTorralva was approaching and would give him great annoyance with hertears and entreaties; however, he went looking about so closely that hediscovered a fisherman who had alongside of him a boat so small that itcould only hold one person and one goat; but for all that he spoke to himand agreed with him to carry himself and his three hundred goats across.The fisherman got into the boat and carried one goat over; he came backand carried another over; he came back again, and again brought overanother--let your worship keep count of the goats the fisherman is takingacross, for if one escapes the memory there will be an end of the story,and it will be impossible to tell another word of it. To proceed, I musttell you the landing place on the other side was miry and slippery, andthe fisherman lost a great deal of time in going and coming; still hereturned for another goat, and another, and another.""Take it for granted he brought them all across," said Don Quixote, "anddon't keep going and coming in this way, or thou wilt not make an end ofbringing them over this twelvemonth.""How many have gone across so far?" said Sancho."How the devil do I know?" replied Don Quixote."There it is," said Sancho, "what I told you, that you must keep a goodcount; well then, by God, there is an end of the story, for there is nogoing any farther.""How can that be?" said Don Quixote; "is it so essential to the story toknow to a nicety the goats that have crossed over, that if there be amistake of one in the reckoning, thou canst not go on with it?""No, senor, not a bit," replied Sancho; "for when I asked your worship totell me how many goats had crossed, and you answered you did not know, atthat very instant all I had to say passed away out of my memory, and,faith, there was much virtue in it, and entertainment.""So, then," said Don Quixote, "the story has come to an end?""As much as my mother has," said Sancho."In truth," said Don Quixote, "thou hast told one of the rarest stories,tales, or histories, that anyone in the world could have imagined, andsuch a way of telling it and ending it was never seen nor will be in alifetime; though I expected nothing else from thy excellentunderstanding. But I do not wonder, for perhaps those ceaseless strokesmay have confused thy wits.""All that may be," replied Sancho, "but I know that as to my story, allthat can be said is that it ends there where the mistake in the count ofthe passage of the goats begins.""Let it end where it will, well and good," said Don Quixote, "and let ussee if Rocinante can go;" and again he spurred him, and again Rocinantemade jumps and remained where he was, so well tied was he.Just then, whether it was the cold of the morning that was nowapproaching, or that he had eaten something laxative at supper, or thatit was only natural (as is most likely), Sancho felt a desire to do whatno one could do for him; but so great was the fear that had penetratedhis heart, he dared not separate himself from his master by as much asthe black of his nail; to escape doing what he wanted was, however, alsoimpossible; so what he did for peace's sake was to remove his right hand,which held the back of the saddle, and with it to untie gently andsilently the running string which alone held up his breeches, so that onloosening it they at once fell down round his feet like fetters; he thenraised his shirt as well as he could and bared his hind quarters, no slimones. But, this accomplished, which he fancied was all he had to do toget out of this terrible strait and embarrassment, another still greaterdifficulty presented itself, for it seemed to him impossible to relievehimself without making some noise, and he ground his teeth and squeezedhis shoulders together, holding his breath as much as he could; but inspite of his precautions he was unlucky enough after all to make a littlenoise, very different from that which was causing him so much fear.Don Quixote, hearing it, said, "What noise is that, Sancho?""I don't know, senor," said he; "it must be something new, for adventuresand misadventures never begin with a trifle." Once more he tried hisluck, and succeeded so well, that without any further noise ordisturbance he found himself relieved of the burden that had given him somuch discomfort. But as Don Quixote's sense of smell was as acute as hishearing, and as Sancho was so closely linked with him that the fumes rosealmost in a straight line, it could not be but that some should reach hisnose, and as soon as they did he came to its relief by compressing itbetween his fingers, saying in a rather snuffing tone, "Sancho, itstrikes me thou art in great fear.""I am," answered Sancho; "but how does your worship perceive it now morethan ever?""Because just now thou smellest stronger than ever, and not ofambergris," answered Don Quixote."Very likely," said Sancho, "but that's not my fault, but your worship's,for leading me about at unseasonable hours and at such unwonted paces.""Then go back three or four, my friend," said Don Quixote, all the timewith his fingers to his nose; "and for the future pay more attention tothy person and to what thou owest to mine; for it is my great familiaritywith thee that has bred this contempt.""I'll bet," replied Sancho, "that your worship thinks I have donesomething I ought not with my person.""It makes it worse to stir it, friend Sancho," returned Don Quixote.With this and other talk of the same sort master and man passed thenight, till Sancho, perceiving that daybreak was coming on apace, verycautiously untied Rocinante and tied up his breeches. As soon asRocinante found himself free, though by nature he was not at allmettlesome, he seemed to feel lively and began pawing--for as tocapering, begging his pardon, he knew not what it meant. Don Quixote,then, observing that Rocinante could move, took it as a good sign and asignal that he should attempt the dread adventure. By this time day hadfully broken and everything showed distinctly, and Don Quixote saw thathe was among some tall trees, chestnuts, which cast a very deep shade; heperceived likewise that the sound of the strokes did not cease, but couldnot discover what caused it, and so without any further delay he letRocinante feel the spur, and once more taking leave of Sancho, he toldhim to wait for him there three days at most, as he had said before, andif he should not have returned by that time, he might feel sure it hadbeen God's will that he should end his days in that perilous adventure.He again repeated the message and commission with which he was to go onhis behalf to his lady Dulcinea, and said he was not to be uneasy as tothe payment of his services, for before leaving home he had made hiswill, in which he would find himself fully recompensed in the matter ofwages in due proportion to the time he had served; but if God deliveredhim safe, sound, and unhurt out of that danger, he might look upon thepromised island as much more than certain. Sancho began to weep afresh onagain hearing the affecting words of his good master, and resolved tostay with him until the final issue and end of the business. From thesetears and this honourable resolve of Sancho Panza's the author of thishistory infers that he must have been of good birth and at least an oldChristian; and the feeling he displayed touched his but not so much as tomake him show any weakness; on the contrary, hiding what he felt as wellas he could, he began to move towards that quarter whence the sound ofthe water and of the strokes seemed to come.Sancho followed him on foot, leading by the halter, as his custom was,his ass, his constant comrade in prosperity or adversity; and advancingsome distance through the shady chestnut trees they came upon a littlemeadow at the foot of some high rocks, down which a mighty rush of waterflung itself. At the foot of the rocks were some rudely constructedhouses looking more like ruins than houses, from among which came, theyperceived, the din and clatter of blows, which still continued withoutintermission. Rocinante took fright at the noise of the water and of theblows, but quieting him Don Quixote advanced step by step towards thehouses, commending himself with all his heart to his lady, imploring hersupport in that dread pass and enterprise, and on the way commendinghimself to God, too, not to forget him. Sancho who never quitted hisside, stretched his neck as far as he could and peered between the legsof Rocinante to see if he could now discover what it was that caused himsuch fear and apprehension. They went it might be a hundred pacesfarther, when on turning a corner the true cause, beyond the possibilityof any mistake, of that dread-sounding and to them awe-inspiring noisethat had kept them all the night in such fear and perplexity, appearedplain and obvious; and it was (if, reader, thou art not disgusted anddisappointed) six fulling hammers which by their alternate strokes madeall the din.When Don Quixote perceived what it was, he was struck dumb and rigid fromhead to foot. Sancho glanced at him and saw him with his head bent downupon his breast in manifest mortification; and Don Quixote glanced atSancho and saw him with his cheeks puffed out and his mouth full oflaughter, and evidently ready to explode with it, and in spite of hisvexation he could not help laughing at the sight of him; and when Sanchosaw his master begin he let go so heartily that he had to hold his sideswith both hands to keep himself from bursting with laughter. Four timeshe stopped, and as many times did his laughter break out afresh with thesame violence as at first, whereat Don Quixote grew furious, above allwhen he heard him say mockingly, "Thou must know, friend Sancho, that ofHeaven's will I was born in this our iron age to revive in it the goldenor age of gold; I am he for whom are reserved perils, mightyachievements, valiant deeds;" and here he went on repeating the wordsthat Don Quixote uttered the first time they heard the awful strokes.Don Quixote, then, seeing that Sancho was turning him into ridicule, wasso mortified and vexed that he lifted up his pike and smote him two suchblows that if, instead of catching them on his shoulders, he had caughtthem on his head there would have been no wages to pay, unless indeed tohis heirs. Sancho seeing that he was getting an awkward return in earnestfor his jest, and fearing his master might carry it still further, saidto him very humbly, "Calm yourself, sir, for by God I am only joking.""Well, then, if you are joking I am not," replied Don Quixote. "Lookhere, my lively gentleman, if these, instead of being fulling hammers,had been some perilous adventure, have I not, think you, shown thecourage required for the attempt and achievement? Am I, perchance, being,as I am, a gentleman, bound to know and distinguish sounds and tellwhether they come from fulling mills or not; and that, when perhaps, asis the case, I have never in my life seen any as you have, low boor asyou are, that have been born and bred among them? But turn me these sixhammers into six giants, and bring them to beard me, one by one or alltogether, and if I do not knock them head over heels, then make whatmockery you like of me.""No more of that, senor," returned Sancho; "I own I went a little too farwith the joke. But tell me, your worship, now that peace is made betweenus (and may God bring you out of all the adventures that may befall youas safe and sound as he has brought you out of this one), was it not athing to laugh at, and is it not a good story, the great fear we werein?--at least that I was in; for as to your worship I see now that youneither know nor understand what either fear or dismay is.""I do not deny," said Don Quixote, "that what happened to us may be worthlaughing at, but it is not worth making a story about, for it is noteveryone that is shrewd enough to hit the right point of a thing.""At any rate," said Sancho, "your worship knew how to hit the right pointwith your pike, aiming at my head and hitting me on the shoulders, thanksbe to God and my own smartness in dodging it. But let that pass; all willcome out in the scouring; for I have heard say 'he loves thee well thatmakes thee weep;' and moreover that it is the way with great lords afterany hard words they give a servant to give him a pair of breeches; thoughI do not know what they give after blows, unless it be thatknights-errant after blows give islands, or kingdoms on the mainland.""It may be on the dice," said Don Quixote, "that all thou sayest willcome true; overlook the past, for thou art shrewd enough to know that ourfirst movements are not in our own control; and one thing for the futurebear in mind, that thou curb and restrain thy loquacity in my company;for in all the books of chivalry that I have read, and they areinnumerable, I never met with a squire who talked so much to his lord asthou dost to thine; and in fact I feel it to be a great fault of thineand of mine: of thine, that thou hast so little respect for me; of mine,that I do not make myself more respected. There was Gandalin, the squireof Amadis of Gaul, that was Count of the Insula Firme, and we read of himthat he always addressed his lord with his cap in his hand, his headbowed down and his body bent double, more turquesco. And then, what shallwe say of Gasabal, the squire of Galaor, who was so silent that in orderto indicate to us the greatness of his marvellous taciturnity his name isonly once mentioned in the whole of that history, as long as it istruthful? From all I have said thou wilt gather, Sancho, that there mustbe a difference between master and man, between lord and lackey, betweenknight and squire: so that from this day forward in our intercourse wemust observe more respect and take less liberties, for in whatever way Imay be provoked with you it will be bad for the pitcher. The favours andbenefits that I have promised you will come in due time, and if they donot your wages at least will not be lost, as I have already told you.""All that your worship says is very well," said Sancho, "but I shouldlike to know (in case the time of favours should not come, and it mightbe necessary to fall back upon wages) how much did the squire of aknight-errant get in those days, and did they agree by the month, or bythe day like bricklayers?""I do not believe," replied Don Quixote, "that such squires were ever onwages, but were dependent on favour; and if I have now mentioned thine inthe sealed will I have left at home, it was with a view to what mayhappen; for as yet I know not how chivalry will turn out in thesewretched times of ours, and I do not wish my soul to suffer for triflesin the other world; for I would have thee know, Sancho, that in thisthere is no condition more hazardous than that of adventurers.""That is true," said Sancho, "since the mere noise of the hammers of afulling mill can disturb and disquiet the heart of such a valiant errantadventurer as your worship; but you may be sure I will not open my lipshenceforward to make light of anything of your worship's, but only tohonour you as my master and natural lord.""By so doing," replied Don Quixote, "shalt thou live long on the face ofthe earth; for next to parents, masters are to be respected as thoughthey were parents."