PART II - CHAPTER XII.

by Miguel de Cervantes

　　OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE WITH THEBOLD KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORSThe night succeeding the day of the encounter with Death, Don Quixote andhis squire passed under some tall shady trees, and Don Quixote atSancho's persuasion ate a little from the store carried by Dapple, andover their supper Sancho said to his master, "Senor, what a fool I shouldhave looked if I had chosen for my reward the spoils of the firstadventure your worship achieved, instead of the foals of the three mares.After all, 'a sparrow in the hand is better than a vulture on the wing.'""At the same time, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "if thou hadst let meattack them as I wanted, at the very least the emperor's gold crown andCupid's painted wings would have fallen to thee as spoils, for I shouldhave taken them by force and given them into thy hands.""The sceptres and crowns of those play-actor emperors," said Sancho,"were never yet pure gold, but only brass foil or tin.""That is true," said Don Quixote, "for it would not be right that theaccessories of the drama should be real, instead of being mere fictionsand semblances, like the drama itself; towards which, Sancho-and, as anecessary consequence, towards those who represent and produce it--Iwould that thou wert favourably disposed, for they are all instruments ofgreat good to the State, placing before us at every step a mirror inwhich we may see vividly displayed what goes on in human life; nor isthere any similitude that shows us more faithfully what we are and oughtto be than the play and the players. Come, tell me, hast thou not seen aplay acted in which kings, emperors, pontiffs, knights, ladies, anddivers other personages were introduced? One plays the villain, anotherthe knave, this one the merchant, that the soldier, one the sharp-wittedfool, another the foolish lover; and when the play is over, and they haveput off the dresses they wore in it, all the actors become equal.""Yes, I have seen that," said Sancho."Well then," said Don Quixote, "the same thing happens in the comedy andlife of this world, where some play emperors, others popes, and, inshort, all the characters that can be brought into a play; but when it isover, that is to say when life ends, death strips them all of thegarments that distinguish one from the other, and all are equal in thegrave.""A fine comparison!" said Sancho; "though not so new but that I haveheard it many and many a time, as well as that other one of the game ofchess; how, so long as the game lasts, each piece has its own particularoffice, and when the game is finished they are all mixed, jumbled up andshaken together, and stowed away in the bag, which is much like endinglife in the grave.""Thou art growing less doltish and more shrewd every day, Sancho," saidDon Quixote."Ay," said Sancho; "it must be that some of your worship's shrewdnesssticks to me; land that, of itself, is barren and dry, will come to yieldgood fruit if you dung it and till it; what I mean is that your worship'sconversation has been the dung that has fallen on the barren soil of mydry wit, and the time I have been in your service and society has beenthe tillage; and with the help of this I hope to yield fruit in abundancethat will not fall away or slide from those paths of good breeding thatyour worship has made in my parched understanding."Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's affected phraseology, and perceived thatwhat he said about his improvement was true, for now and then he spoke ina way that surprised him; though always, or mostly, when Sancho tried totalk fine and attempted polite language, he wound up by toppling overfrom the summit of his simplicity into the abyss of his ignorance; andwhere he showed his culture and his memory to the greatest advantage wasin dragging in proverbs, no matter whether they had any bearing or notupon the subject in hand, as may have been seen already and will benoticed in the course of this history.In conversation of this kind they passed a good part of the night, butSancho felt a desire to let down the curtains of his eyes, as he used tosay when he wanted to go to sleep; and stripping Dapple he left him atliberty to graze his fill. He did not remove Rocinante's saddle, as hismaster's express orders were, that so long as they were in the field ornot sleeping under a roof Rocinante was not to be stripped--the ancientusage established and observed by knights-errant being to take off thebridle and hang it on the saddle-bow, but to remove the saddle from thehorse--never! Sancho acted accordingly, and gave him the same liberty hehad given Dapple, between whom and Rocinante there was a friendship sounequalled and so strong, that it is handed down by tradition from fatherto son, that the author of this veracious history devoted some specialchapters to it, which, in order to preserve the propriety and decorum dueto a history so heroic, he did not insert therein; although at times heforgets this resolution of his and describes how eagerly the two beastswould scratch one another when they were together and how, when they weretired or full, Rocinante would lay his neck across Dapple's, stretchinghalf a yard or more on the other side, and the pair would stand thus,gazing thoughtfully on the ground, for three days, or at least so long asthey were left alone, or hunger did not drive them to go and look forfood. I may add that they say the author left it on record that helikened their friendship to that of Nisus and Euryalus, and Pylades andOrestes; and if that be so, it may be perceived, to the admiration ofmankind, how firm the friendship must have been between these twopeaceful animals, shaming men, who preserve friendships with one anotherso badly. This was why it was said--For friend no longer is there friend;The reeds turn lances now.And some one else has sung--Friend to friend the bug, etc.And let no one fancy that the author was at all astray when he comparedthe friendship of these animals to that of men; for men have receivedmany lessons from beasts, and learned many important things, as, forexample, the clyster from the stork, vomit and gratitude from the dog,watchfulness from the crane, foresight from the ant, modesty from theelephant, and loyalty from the horse.Sancho at last fell asleep at the foot of a cork tree, while Don Quixotedozed at that of a sturdy oak; but a short time only had elapsed when anoise he heard behind him awoke him, and rising up startled, he listenedand looked in the direction the noise came from, and perceived two men onhorseback, one of whom, letting himself drop from the saddle, said to theother, "Dismount, my friend, and take the bridles off the horses, for, sofar as I can see, this place will furnish grass for them, and thesolitude and silence my love-sick thoughts need of." As he said this hestretched himself upon the ground, and as he flung himself down, thearmour in which he was clad rattled, whereby Don Quixote perceived thathe must be a knight-errant; and going over to Sancho, who was asleep, heshook him by the arm and with no small difficulty brought him back to hissenses, and said in a low voice to him, "Brother Sancho, we have got anadventure.""God send us a good one," said Sancho; "and where may her ladyship theadventure be?""Where, Sancho?" replied Don Quixote; "turn thine eyes and look, and thouwilt see stretched there a knight-errant, who, it strikes me, is not overand above happy, for I saw him fling himself off his horse and throwhimself on the ground with a certain air of dejection, and his armourrattled as he fell.""Well," said Sancho, "how does your worship make out that to be anadventure?""I do not mean to say," returned Don Quixote, "that it is a completeadventure, but that it is the beginning of one, for it is in this wayadventures begin. But listen, for it seems he is tuning a lute or guitar,and from the way he is spitting and clearing his chest he must be gettingready to sing something.""Faith, you are right," said Sancho, "and no doubt he is some enamouredknight.""There is no knight-errant that is not," said Don Quixote; "but let uslisten to him, for, if he sings, by that thread we shall extract the ballof his thoughts; because out of the abundance of the heart the mouthspeaketh."Sancho was about to reply to his master, but the Knight of the Grove'svoice, which was neither very bad nor very good, stopped him, andlistening attentively the pair heard him sing thisSONNET Your pleasure, prithee, lady mine, unfold; Declare the terms that I am to obey; My will to yours submissively I mould, And from your law my feet shall never stray. Would you I die, to silent grief a prey? Then count me even now as dead and cold; Would you I tell my woes in some new way? Then shall my tale by Love itself be told. The unison of opposites to prove, Of the soft wax and diamond hard am I; But still, obedient to the laws of love, Here, hard or soft, I offer you my breast, Whate'er you grave or stamp thereon shall rest Indelible for all eternity. With an "Ah me!" that seemed to be drawn from the inmost recesses of hisheart, the Knight of the Grove brought his lay to an end, and shortlyafterwards exclaimed in a melancholy and piteous voice, "O fairest andmost ungrateful woman on earth! What! can it be, most serene Casildea deVandalia, that thou wilt suffer this thy captive knight to waste away andperish in ceaseless wanderings and rude and arduous toils? It is notenough that I have compelled all the knights of Navarre, all the Leonese,all the Tartesians, all the Castilians, and finally all the knights of LaMancha, to confess thee the most beautiful in the world?""Not so," said Don Quixote at this, "for I am of La Mancha, and I havenever confessed anything of the sort, nor could I nor should I confess athing so much to the prejudice of my lady's beauty; thou seest how thisknight is raving, Sancho. But let us listen, perhaps he will tell us moreabout himself.""That he will," returned Sancho, "for he seems in a mood to bewailhimself for a month at a stretch."But this was not the case, for the Knight of the Grove, hearing voicesnear him, instead of continuing his lamentation, stood up and exclaimedin a distinct but courteous tone, "Who goes there? What are you? Do youbelong to the number of the happy or of the miserable?""Of the miserable," answered Don Quixote."Then come to me," said he of the Grove, "and rest assured that it is towoe itself and affliction itself you come."Don Quixote, finding himself answered in such a soft and courteousmanner, went over to him, and so did Sancho.The doleful knight took Don Quixote by the arm, saying, "Sit down here,sir knight; for, that you are one, and of those that professknight-errantry, it is to me a sufficient proof to have found you in thisplace, where solitude and night, the natural couch and proper retreat ofknights-errant, keep you company." To which Don made answer, "A knight Iam of the profession you mention, and though sorrows, misfortunes, andcalamities have made my heart their abode, the compassion I feel for themisfortunes of others has not been thereby banished from it. From whatyou have just now sung I gather that yours spring from love, I mean fromthe love you bear that fair ingrate you named in your lament."In the meantime, they had seated themselves together on the hard groundpeaceably and sociably, just as if, as soon as day broke, they were notgoing to break one another's heads."Are you, sir knight, in love perchance?" asked he of the Grove of DonQuixote."By mischance I am," replied Don Quixote; "though the ills arising fromwell-bestowed affections should be esteemed favours rather thanmisfortunes.""That is true," returned he of the Grove, "if scorn did not unsettle ourreason and understanding, for if it be excessive it looks like revenge.""I was never scorned by my lady," said Don Quixote."Certainly not," said Sancho, who stood close by, "for my lady is as alamb, and softer than a roll of butter.""Is this your squire?" asked he of the Grove."He is," said Don Quixote."I never yet saw a squire," said he of the Grove, "who ventured to speakwhen his master was speaking; at least, there is mine, who is as big ashis father, and it cannot be proved that he has ever opened his lips whenI am speaking.""By my faith then," said Sancho, "I have spoken, and am fit to speak, inthe presence of one as much, or even--but never mind--it only makes itworse to stir it."The squire of the Grove took Sancho by the arm, saying to him, "Let ustwo go where we can talk in squire style as much as we please, and leavethese gentlemen our masters to fight it out over the story of theirloves; and, depend upon it, daybreak will find them at it without havingmade an end of it.""So be it by all means," said Sancho; "and I will tell your worship who Iam, that you may see whether I am to be reckoned among the number of themost talkative squires."With this the two squires withdrew to one side, and between them therepassed a conversation as droll as that which passed between their masterswas serious.