PART II - CHAPTER LXX.

by Miguel de Cervantes

　　WHICH FOLLOWS SIXTY-NINE AND DEALS WITH MATTERS INDISPENSABLE FOR THECLEAR COMPREHENSION OF THIS HISTORYSancho slept that night in a cot in the same chamber with Don Quixote, athing he would have gladly excused if he could for he knew very well thatwith questions and answers his master would not let him sleep, and he wasin no humour for talking much, as he still felt the pain of his latemartyrdom, which interfered with his freedom of speech; and it would havebeen more to his taste to sleep in a hovel alone, than in that luxuriouschamber in company. And so well founded did his apprehension prove, andso correct was his anticipation, that scarcely had his master got intobed when he said, "What dost thou think of tonight's adventure, Sancho?Great and mighty is the power of cold-hearted scorn, for thou with thineown eyes hast seen Altisidora slain, not by arrows, nor by the sword, norby any warlike weapon, nor by deadly poisons, but by the thought of thesternness and scorn with which I have always treated her.""She might have died and welcome," said Sancho, "when she pleased and howshe pleased; and she might have left me alone, for I never made her fallin love or scorned her. I don't know nor can I imagine how the recoveryof Altisidora, a damsel more fanciful than wise, can have, as I have saidbefore, anything to do with the sufferings of Sancho Panza. Now I beginto see plainly and clearly that there are enchanters and enchanted peoplein the world; and may God deliver me from them, since I can't delivermyself; and so I beg of your worship to let me sleep and not ask me anymore questions, unless you want me to throw myself out of the window.""Sleep, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote, "if the pinprodding andpinches thou hast received and the smacks administered to thee will letthee.""No pain came up to the insult of the smacks," said Sancho, "for thesimple reason that it was duennas, confound them, that gave them to me;but once more I entreat your worship to let me sleep, for sleep is relieffrom misery to those who are miserable when awake.""Be it so, and God be with thee," said Don Quixote.They fell asleep, both of them, and Cide Hamete, the author of this greathistory, took this opportunity to record and relate what it was thatinduced the duke and duchess to get up the elaborate plot that has beendescribed. The bachelor Samson Carrasco, he says, not forgetting how heas the Knight of the Mirrors had been vanquished and overthrown by DonQuixote, which defeat and overthrow upset all his plans, resolved to tryhis hand again, hoping for better luck than he had before; and so, havinglearned where Don Quixote was from the page who brought the letter andpresent to Sancho's wife, Teresa Panza, he got himself new armour andanother horse, and put a white moon upon his shield, and to carry hisarms he had a mule led by a peasant, not by Tom Cecial his former squirefor fear he should be recognised by Sancho or Don Quixote. He came to theduke's castle, and the duke informed him of the road and route DonQuixote had taken with the intention of being present at the jousts atSaragossa. He told him, too, of the jokes he had practised upon him, andof the device for the disenchantment of Dulcinea at the expense ofSancho's backside; and finally he gave him an account of the trick Sanchohad played upon his master, making him believe that Dulcinea wasenchanted and turned into a country wench; and of how the duchess, hiswife, had persuaded Sancho that it was he himself who was deceived,inasmuch as Dulcinea was really enchanted; at which the bachelor laughednot a little, and marvelled as well at the sharpness and simplicity ofSancho as at the length to which Don Quixote's madness went. The dukebegged of him if he found him (whether he overcame him or not) to returnthat way and let him know the result. This the bachelor did; he set outin quest of Don Quixote, and not finding him at Saragossa, he went on,and how he fared has been already told. He returned to the duke's castleand told him all, what the conditions of the combat were, and how DonQuixote was now, like a loyal knight-errant, returning to keep hispromise of retiring to his village for a year, by which time, said thebachelor, he might perhaps be cured of his madness; for that was theobject that had led him to adopt these disguises, as it was a sad thingfor a gentleman of such good parts as Don Quixote to be a madman. And sohe took his leave of the duke, and went home to his village to wait therefor Don Quixote, who was coming after him. Thereupon the duke seized theopportunity of practising this mystification upon him; so much did heenjoy everything connected with Sancho and Don Quixote. He had the roadsabout the castle far and near, everywhere he thought Don Quixote waslikely to pass on his return, occupied by large numbers of his servantson foot and on horseback, who were to bring him to the castle, by fairmeans or foul, if they met him. They did meet him, and sent word to theduke, who, having already settled what was to be done, as soon as heheard of his arrival, ordered the torches and lamps in the court to belit and Altisidora to be placed on the catafalque with all the pomp andceremony that has been described, the whole affair being so well arrangedand acted that it differed but little from reality. And Cide Hamete says,moreover, that for his part he considers the concocters of the joke ascrazy as the victims of it, and that the duke and duchess were not twofingers' breadth removed from being something like fools themselves whenthey took such pains to make game of a pair of fools.As for the latter, one was sleeping soundly and the other lying awakeoccupied with his desultory thoughts, when daylight came to them bringingwith it the desire to rise; for the lazy down was never a delight to DonQuixote, victor or vanquished. Altisidora, come back from death to lifeas Don Quixote fancied, following up the freak of her lord and lady,entered the chamber, crowned with the garland she had worn on thecatafalque and in a robe of white taffeta embroidered with gold flowers,her hair flowing loose over her shoulders, and leaning upon a staff offine black ebony. Don Quixote, disconcerted and in confusion at herappearance, huddled himself up and well-nigh covered himself altogetherwith the sheets and counterpane of the bed, tongue-tied, and unable tooffer her any civility. Altisidora seated herself on a chair at the headof the bed, and, after a deep sigh, said to him in a feeble, soft voice,"When women of rank and modest maidens trample honour under foot, andgive a loose to the tongue that breaks through every impediment,publishing abroad the inmost secrets of their hearts, they are reduced tosore extremities. Such a one am I, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha,crushed, conquered, love-smitten, but yet patient under suffering andvirtuous, and so much so that my heart broke with grief and I lost mylife. For the last two days I have been dead, slain by the thought of thecruelty with which thou hast treated me, obdurate knight,O harder thou than marble to my plaint;or at least believed to be dead by all who saw me; and had it not beenthat Love, taking pity on me, let my recovery rest upon the sufferings ofthis good squire, there I should have remained in the other world.""Love might very well have let it rest upon the sufferings of my ass, andI should have been obliged to him," said Sancho. "But tell me,senora--and may heaven send you a tenderer lover than my master-what didyou see in the other world? What goes on in hell? For of course that'swhere one who dies in despair is bound for.""To tell you the truth," said Altisidora, "I cannot have died outright,for I did not go into hell; had I gone in, it is very certain I shouldnever have come out again, do what I might. The truth is, I came to thegate, where some dozen or so of devils were playing tennis, all inbreeches and doublets, with falling collars trimmed with Flemishbonelace, and ruffles of the same that served them for wristbands, withfour fingers' breadth of the arms exposed to make their hands looklonger; in their hands they held rackets of fire; but what amazed mestill more was that books, apparently full of wind and rubbish, servedthem for tennis balls, a strange and marvellous thing; this, however, didnot astonish me so much as to observe that, although with players it isusual for the winners to be glad and the losers sorry, there in that gameall were growling, all were snarling, and all were cursing one another.""That's no wonder," said Sancho; "for devils, whether playing or not, cannever be content, win or lose.""Very likely," said Altisidora; "but there is another thing thatsurprises me too, I mean surprised me then, and that was that no balloutlasted the first throw or was of any use a second time; and it waswonderful the constant succession there was of books, new and old. To oneof them, a brand-new, well-bound one, they gave such a stroke that theyknocked the guts out of it and scattered the leaves about. 'Look whatbook that is,' said one devil to another, and the other replied, 'It isthe "Second Part of the History of Don Quixote of La Mancha," not by CideHamete, the original author, but by an Aragonese who by his own accountis of Tordesillas.' 'Out of this with it,' said the first, 'and into thedepths of hell with it out of my sight.' 'Is it so bad?' said the other.'So bad is it,' said the first, 'that if I had set myself deliberately tomake a worse, I could not have done it.' They then went on with theirgame, knocking other books about; and I, having heard them mention thename of Don Quixote whom I love and adore so, took care to retain thisvision in my memory.""A vision it must have been, no doubt," said Don Quixote, "for there isno other I in the world; this history has been going about here for sometime from hand to hand, but it does not stay long in any, for everybodygives it a taste of his foot. I am not disturbed by hearing that I amwandering in a fantastic shape in the darkness of the pit or in thedaylight above, for I am not the one that history treats of. If it shouldbe good, faithful, and true, it will have ages of life; but if it shouldbe bad, from its birth to its burial will not be a very long journey."Altisidora was about to proceed with her complaint against Don Quixote,when he said to her, "I have several times told you, senora that itgrieves me you should have set your affections upon me, as from mine theycan only receive gratitude, but no return. I was born to belong toDulcinea del Toboso, and the fates, if there are any, dedicated me toher; and to suppose that any other beauty can take the place she occupiesin my heart is to suppose an impossibility. This frank declaration shouldsuffice to make you retire within the bounds of your modesty, for no onecan bind himself to do impossibilities."Hearing this, Altisidora, with a show of anger and agitation, exclaimed,"God's life! Don Stockfish, soul of a mortar, stone of a date, moreobstinate and obdurate than a clown asked a favour when he has his mindmade up, if I fall upon you I'll tear your eyes out! Do you fancy, DonVanquished, Don Cudgelled, that I died for your sake? All that you haveseen to-night has been make-believe; I'm not the woman to let the blackof my nail suffer for such a camel, much less die!""That I can well believe," said Sancho; "for all that about lovers piningto death is absurd; they may talk of it, but as for doing it-Judas maybelieve that!"While they were talking, the musician, singer, and poet, who had sung thetwo stanzas given above came in, and making a profound obeisance to DonQuixote said, "Will your worship, sir knight, reckon and retain me in thenumber of your most faithful servants, for I have long been a greatadmirer of yours, as well because of your fame as because of yourachievements?" "Will your worship tell me who you are," replied DonQuixote, "so that my courtesy may be answerable to your deserts?" Theyoung man replied that he was the musician and songster of the nightbefore. "Of a truth," said Don Quixote, "your worship has a mostexcellent voice; but what you sang did not seem to me very much to thepurpose; for what have Garcilasso's stanzas to do with the death of thislady?""Don't be surprised at that," returned the musician; "for with the callowpoets of our day the way is for every one to write as he pleases andpilfer where he chooses, whether it be germane to the matter or not, andnow-a-days there is no piece of silliness they can sing or write that isnot set down to poetic licence."Don Quixote was about to reply, but was prevented by the duke andduchess, who came in to see him, and with them there followed a long anddelightful conversation, in the course of which Sancho said so many drolland saucy things that he left the duke and duchess wondering not only athis simplicity but at his sharpness. Don Quixote begged their permissionto take his departure that same day, inasmuch as for a vanquished knightlike himself it was fitter he should live in a pig-sty than in a royalpalace. They gave it very readily, and the duchess asked him ifAltisidora was in his good graces.He replied, "Senora, let me tell your ladyship that this damsel's ailmentcomes entirely of idleness, and the cure for it is honest and constantemployment. She herself has told me that lace is worn in hell; and as shemust know how to make it, let it never be out of her hands; for when sheis occupied in shifting the bobbins to and fro, the image or images ofwhat she loves will not shift to and fro in her thoughts; this is thetruth, this is my opinion, and this is my advice.""And mine," added Sancho; "for I never in all my life saw a lace-makerthat died for love; when damsels are at work their minds are more set onfinishing their tasks than on thinking of their loves. I speak from myown experience; for when I'm digging I never think of my old woman; Imean my Teresa Panza, whom I love better than my own eyelids." "You saywell, Sancho," said the duchess, "and I will take care that my Altisidoraemploys herself henceforward in needlework of some sort; for she isextremely expert at it." "There is no occasion to have recourse to thatremedy, senora," said Altisidora; "for the mere thought of the crueltywith which this vagabond villain has treated me will suffice to blot himout of my memory without any other device; with your highness's leave Iwill retire, not to have before my eyes, I won't say his ruefulcountenance, but his abominable, ugly looks." "That reminds me of thecommon saying, that 'he that rails is ready to forgive,'" said the duke.Altisidora then, pretending to wipe away her tears with a handkerchief,made an obeisance to her master and mistress and quitted the room."Ill luck betide thee, poor damsel," said Sancho, "ill luck betide thee!Thou hast fallen in with a soul as dry as a rush and a heart as hard asoak; had it been me, i'faith 'another cock would have crowed to thee.'"So the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote dressed himself anddined with the duke and duchess, and set out the same evening.