PART II - CHAPTER XLIV.

by Miguel de Cervantes

　　HOW SANCHO PANZA WAS CONDUCTED TO HIS GOVERNMENT, AND OF THE STRANGEADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLEIt is stated, they say, in the true original of this history, that whenCide Hamete came to write this chapter, his interpreter did not translateit as he wrote it--that is, as a kind of complaint the Moor made againsthimself for having taken in hand a story so dry and of so little varietyas this of Don Quixote, for he found himself forced to speak perpetuallyof him and Sancho, without venturing to indulge in digressions andepisodes more serious and more interesting. He said, too, that to go on,mind, hand, pen always restricted to writing upon one single subject, andspeaking through the mouths of a few characters, was intolerabledrudgery, the result of which was never equal to the author's labour, andthat to avoid this he had in the First Part availed himself of the deviceof novels, like "The Ill-advised Curiosity," and "The Captive Captain,"which stand, as it were, apart from the story; the others are given therebeing incidents which occurred to Don Quixote himself and could not beomitted. He also thought, he says, that many, engrossed by the interestattaching to the exploits of Don Quixote, would take none in the novels,and pass them over hastily or impatiently without noticing the eleganceand art of their composition, which would be very manifest were theypublished by themselves and not as mere adjuncts to the crazes of DonQuixote or the simplicities of Sancho. Therefore in this Second Part hethought it best not to insert novels, either separate or interwoven, butonly episodes, something like them, arising out of the circumstances thefacts present; and even these sparingly, and with no more words thansuffice to make them plain; and as he confines and restricts himself tothe narrow limits of the narrative, though he has ability; capacity, andbrains enough to deal with the whole universe, he requests that hislabours may not be despised, and that credit be given him, not alone forwhat he writes, but for what he has refrained from writing.And so he goes on with his story, saying that the day Don Quixote gavethe counsels to Sancho, the same afternoon after dinner he handed them tohim in writing so that he might get some one to read them to him. Theyhad scarcely, however, been given to him when he let them drop, and theyfell into the hands of the duke, who showed them to the duchess and theywere both amazed afresh at the madness and wit of Don Quixote. To carryon the joke, then, the same evening they despatched Sancho with a largefollowing to the village that was to serve him for an island. It happenedthat the person who had him in charge was a majordomo of the duke's, aman of great discretion and humour--and there can be no humour withoutdiscretion--and the same who played the part of the Countess Trifaldi inthe comical way that has been already described; and thus qualified, andinstructed by his master and mistress as to how to deal with Sancho, hecarried out their scheme admirably. Now it came to pass that as soon asSancho saw this majordomo he seemed in his features to recognise those ofthe Trifaldi, and turning to his master, he said to him, "Senor, eitherthe devil will carry me off, here on this spot, righteous and believing,or your worship will own to me that the face of this majordomo of theduke's here is the very face of the Distressed One."Don Quixote regarded the majordomo attentively, and having done so, saidto Sancho, "There is no reason why the devil should carry thee off,Sancho, either righteous or believing--and what thou meanest by that Iknow not; the face of the Distressed One is that of the majordomo, butfor all that the majordomo is not the Distressed One; for his being sowould involve a mighty contradiction; but this is not the time for goinginto questions of the sort, which would be involving ourselves in aninextricable labyrinth. Believe me, my friend, we must pray earnestly toour Lord that he deliver us both from wicked wizards and enchanters.""It is no joke, senor," said Sancho, "for before this I heard him speak,and it seemed exactly as if the voice of the Trifaldi was sounding in myears. Well, I'll hold my peace; but I'll take care to be on the look-outhenceforth for any sign that may be seen to confirm or do away with thissuspicion.""Thou wilt do well, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and thou wilt let me knowall thou discoverest, and all that befalls thee in thy government."Sancho at last set out attended by a great number of people. He wasdressed in the garb of a lawyer, with a gaban of tawny watered camletover all and a montera cap of the same material, and mounted a la ginetaupon a mule. Behind him, in accordance with the duke's orders, followedDapple with brand new ass-trappings and ornaments of silk, and from timeto time Sancho turned round to look at his ass, so well pleased to havehim with him that he would not have changed places with the emperor ofGermany. On taking leave he kissed the hands of the duke and duchess andgot his master's blessing, which Don Quixote gave him with tears, and hereceived blubbering.Let worthy Sancho go in peace, and good luck to him, Gentle Reader; andlook out for two bushels of laughter, which the account of how he behavedhimself in office will give thee. In the meantime turn thy attention towhat happened his master the same night, and if thou dost not laughthereat, at any rate thou wilt stretch thy mouth with a grin; for DonQuixote's adventures must be honoured either with wonder or withlaughter.It is recorded, then, that as soon as Sancho had gone, Don Quixote felthis loneliness, and had it been possible for him to revoke the mandateand take away the government from him he would have done so. The duchessobserved his dejection and asked him why he was melancholy; because, shesaid, if it was for the loss of Sancho, there were squires, duennas, anddamsels in her house who would wait upon him to his full satisfaction."The truth is, senora," replied Don Quixote, "that I do feel the loss ofSancho; but that is not the main cause of my looking sad; and of all theoffers your excellence makes me, I accept only the good-will with whichthey are made, and as to the remainder I entreat of your excellence topermit and allow me alone to wait upon myself in my chamber.""Indeed, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess, "that must not be; four ofmy damsels, as beautiful as flowers, shall wait upon you.""To me," said Don Quixote, "they will not be flowers, but thorns topierce my heart. They, or anything like them, shall as soon enter mychamber as fly. If your highness wishes to gratify me still further,though I deserve it not, permit me to please myself, and wait upon myselfin my own room; for I place a barrier between my inclinations and myvirtue, and I do not wish to break this rule through the generosity yourhighness is disposed to display towards me; and, in short, I will sleepin my clothes, sooner than allow anyone to undress me.""Say no more, Senor Don Quixote, say no more," said the duchess; "Iassure you I will give orders that not even a fly, not to say a damsel,shall enter your room. I am not the one to undermine the propriety ofSenor Don Quixote, for it strikes me that among his many virtues the onethat is pre-eminent is that of modesty. Your worship may undress anddress in private and in your own way, as you please and when you please,for there will be no one to hinder you; and in your chamber you will findall the utensils requisite to supply the wants of one who sleeps with hisdoor locked, to the end that no natural needs compel you to open it. Maythe great Dulcinea del Toboso live a thousand years, and may her fameextend all over the surface of the globe, for she deserves to be loved bya knight so valiant and so virtuous; and may kind heaven infuse zeal intothe heart of our governor Sancho Panza to finish off his disciplinespeedily, so that the world may once more enjoy the beauty of so grand alady."To which Don Quixote replied, "Your highness has spoken like what youare; from the mouth of a noble lady nothing bad can come; and Dulcineawill be more fortunate, and better known to the world by the praise ofyour highness than by all the eulogies the greatest orators on earthcould bestow upon her.""Well, well, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess, is nearly supper-time,and the duke is is probably waiting; come let us go to supper, and retireto rest early, for the journey you made yesterday from Kandy was not sucha short one but that it must have caused you some fatigue.""I feel none, senora," said Don Quixote, "for I would go so far as toswear to your excellence that in all my life I never mounted a quieterbeast, or a pleasanter paced one, than Clavileno; and I don't know whatcould have induced Malambruno to discard a steed so swift and so gentle,and burn it so recklessly as he did.""Probably," said the duchess, "repenting of the evil he had done to theTrifaldi and company, and others, and the crimes he must have committedas a wizard and enchanter, he resolved to make away with all theinstruments of his craft; and so burned Clavileno as the chief one, andthat which mainly kept him restless, wandering from land to land; and byits ashes and the trophy of the placard the valour of the great DonQuixote of La Mancha is established for ever."Don Quixote renewed his thanks to the duchess; and having supped, retiredto his chamber alone, refusing to allow anyone to enter with him to waiton him, such was his fear of encountering temptations that might lead ordrive him to forget his chaste fidelity to his lady Dulcinea; for he hadalways present to his mind the virtue of Amadis, that flower and mirrorof knights-errant. He locked the door behind him, and by the light of twowax candles undressed himself, but as he was taking off his stockings--Odisaster unworthy of such a personage!--there came a burst, not of sighs,or anything belying his delicacy or good breeding, but of some two dozenstitches in one of his stockings, that made it look like awindow-lattice. The worthy gentleman was beyond measure distressed, andat that moment he would have given an ounce of silver to have had half adrachm of green silk there; I say green silk, because the stockings weregreen.Here Cide Hamete exclaimed as he was writing, "O poverty, poverty! I knownot what could have possessed the great Cordovan poet to call thee 'holygift ungratefully received.' Although a Moor, I know well enough from theintercourse I have had with Christians that holiness consists in charity,humility, faith, obedience, and poverty; but for all that, I say he musthave a great deal of godliness who can find any satisfaction in beingpoor; unless, indeed, it be the kind of poverty one of their greatestsaints refers to, saying, 'possess all things as though ye possessed themnot;' which is what they call poverty in spirit. But thou, that otherpoverty--for it is of thee I am speaking now--why dost thou love to fallout with gentlemen and men of good birth more than with other people? Whydost thou compel them to smear the cracks in their shoes, and to have thebuttons of their coats, one silk, another hair, and another glass? Whymust their ruffs be always crinkled like endive leaves, and not crimpedwith a crimping iron?" (From this we may perceive the antiquity of starchand crimped 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, I say,with his nervous honour, fancying they perceive a league off the patch onhis shoe, the sweat-stains on his hat, the shabbiness of his cloak, andthe hunger of his stomach!"All this was brought home to Don Quixote by the bursting of his stitches;however, he comforted himself on perceiving that Sancho had left behind apair of travelling boots, which he resolved to wear the next day. At lasthe went to bed, out of spirits and heavy at heart, as much because hemissed Sancho as because of the irreparable disaster to his stockings,the stitches of which he would have even taken up with silk of anothercolour, which is one of the greatest signs of poverty a gentleman canshow in the course of his never-failing embarrassments. He put out thecandles; but the night was warm and he could not sleep; he rose from hisbed and opened slightly a grated window that looked out on a beautifulgarden, and as he did so he perceived and heard people walking andtalking in the garden. He set himself to listen attentively, and thosebelow raised their voices so that he could hear these words:"Urge me not to sing, Emerencia, for thou knowest that ever since thisstranger entered the castle and my eyes beheld him, I cannot sing butonly weep; besides my lady is a light rather than a heavy sleeper, and Iwould not for all the wealth of the world that she found us here; andeven if she were asleep and did not waken, my singing would be in vain,if this strange AEneas, who has come into my neighbourhood to flout me,sleeps on and wakens not to hear it.""Heed not that, dear Altisidora," replied a voice; "the duchess is nodoubt asleep, and everybody in the house save the lord of thy heart anddisturber of thy soul; for just now I perceived him open the gratedwindow of his chamber, so he must be awake; sing, my poor sufferer, in alow sweet tone to the accompaniment of thy harp; and even if the duchesshears us we can lay the blame on the heat of the night.""That is not the point, Emerencia," replied Altisidora, "it is that Iwould not that my singing should lay bare my heart, and that I should bethought a light and wanton maiden by those who know not the mighty powerof love; but come what may; better a blush on the cheeks than a sore inthe heart;" and here a harp softly touched made itself heard. As helistened to all this Don Quixote was in a state of breathless amazement,for immediately the countless adventures like this, with windows,gratings, gardens, serenades, lovemakings, and languishings, that he hadread of in his trashy books of chivalry, came to his mind. He at onceconcluded that some damsel of the duchess's was in love with him, andthat her modesty forced her to keep her passion secret. He trembled lesthe should fall, and made an inward resolution not to yield; andcommending himself with all his might and soul to his lady Dulcinea hemade up his mind to listen to the music; and to let them know he wasthere he gave a pretended sneeze, at which the damsels were not a littledelighted, for all they wanted was that Don Quixote should hear them. Sohaving tuned the harp, Altisidora, running her hand across the strings,began this 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 all The famed Manchegan breed, Of purity and virtue more Than gold of Araby; Give ear unto a suffering maid, Well-grown but evil-starr'd, For those two suns of thine have lit A fire within her heart. Adventures seeking thou dost rove, To others bringing woe; Thou scatterest wounds, but, ah, the balm To heal them dost withhold! Say, valiant youth, and so may God Thy enterprises speed, Didst thou the light mid Libya's sands Or 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 power A tiger fierce to tame. And she for this shall famous be From Tagus to Jarama, From Manzanares to Genil, From Duero to Arlanza. Fain would I change with her, and give A petticoat to boot, The best and bravest that I have, All trimmed with gold galloon. O for to be the happy fair Thy mighty arms enfold, Or even sit beside thy bed And scratch thy dusty poll! I rave,--to favours such as these Unworthy to aspire; Thy feet to tickle were enough For 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! And I would give thee pearls that should As big as oak-galls show; So matchless big that each might well Be called the great "Alone." Manchegan Nero, look not down From thy Tarpeian Rock Upon this burning heart, nor add The fuel of thy wrath. A virgin soft and young am I, Not yet fifteen years old; (I'm only three months past fourteen, I swear upon my soul). I hobble not nor do I limp, All blemish I'm without, And as I walk my lily locks Are trailing on the ground. And though my nose be rather flat, And though my mouth be wide, My teeth like topazes exalt My beauty to the sky. Thou knowest that my voice is sweet, That is if thou dost hear; And I am moulded in a form Somewhat below the mean. These charms, and many more, are thine, Spoils to thy spear and bow all; A damsel of this house am I, By name Altisidora. Here the lay of the heart-stricken Altisidora came to an end, while thewarmly wooed Don Quixote began to feel alarm; and with a deep sigh hesaid to himself, "O that I should be such an unlucky knight that nodamsel can set eyes on me but falls in love with me! O that the peerlessDulcinea should be so unfortunate that they cannot let her enjoy myincomparable constancy in peace! What would ye with her, ye queens? Whydo ye persecute her, ye empresses? Why ye pursue her, ye virgins of fromfourteen to fifteen? Leave the unhappy being to triumph, rejoice andglory in the lot love has been pleased to bestow upon her in surrenderingmy heart and yielding up my soul to her. Ye love-smitten host, know thatto Dulcinea only I am dough and sugar-paste, flint to all others; for herI am honey, for you aloes. For me Dulcinea alone is beautiful, wise,virtuous, graceful, and high-bred, and all others are ill-favoured,foolish, light, and low-born. Nature sent me into the world to be hersand no other's; Altisidora may weep or sing, the lady for whose sake theybelaboured me in the castle of the enchanted Moor may give way todespair, but I must be Dulcinea's, boiled or roast, pure, courteous, andchaste, in spite of all the magic-working powers on earth." And with thathe shut the window with a bang, and, as much out of temper and out ofsorts as if some great misfortune had befallen him, stretched himself onhis bed, where we will leave him for the present, as the great SanchoPanza, who is about to set up his famous government, now demands ourattention.