The History of Don Quixote_ Volume 2_ Part 29 Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra 484 downloads.pdf

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Volume 2, Part 29
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Title: The History of Don Quixote, Volume 2, Part 29

Author: Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

Illustrator: Gustave Doré

Translator: John Ormsby

Release date: July 24, 2004 [eBook #5932]
Most recently updated: December 29, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5932

Credits: Produced by David Widger

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HISTORY
OF DON QUIXOTE, VOLUME 2, PART 29 ***

DON QUIXOTE

by Miguel de Cervantes

Translated by John Ormsby

Volume II., Part 29

Chapters 32-35

Ebook Editor's Note
The book cover and spine above and the images which follow were not part
of the original Ormsby translation—they are taken from the 1880 edition of J.
W. Clark, illustrated by Gustave Dore. Clark in his edition states that, "The
English text of 'Don Quixote' adopted in this edition is that of Jarvis, with
occasional corrections from Motteaux." See in the introduction below John
Ormsby's critique of both the Jarvis and Motteaux translations. It has been
elected in the present Project Gutenberg edition to attach the famous
engravings of Gustave Dore to the Ormsby translation instead of the
Jarvis/Motteaux. The detail of many of the Dore engravings can be fully
appreciated only by utilizing the "Enlarge" button to expand them to their
original dimensions. Ormsby in his Preface has criticized the fanciful nature of
Dore's illustrations; others feel these woodcuts and steel engravings well match
Quixote's dreams. D.W.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER XXXII
OF THE REPLY DON QUIXOTE GAVE HIS CENSURER, WITH OTHER
INCIDENTS, GRAVE AND DROLL

CHAPTER XXXIII
OF THE DELECTABLE DISCOURSE WHICH THE DUCHESS AND
HER
DAMSELS HELD WITH SANCHO PANZA, WELL WORTH READING
AND
NOTING

CHAPTER XXXIV
WHICH RELATES HOW THEY LEARNED THE WAY IN WHICH THEY
WERE TO DISENCHANT THE PEERLESS DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO,
WHICH IS ONE OF THE RAREST ADVENTURES IN THIS BOOK

CHAPTER XXXV
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE INSTRUCTION GIVEN TO DON
QUIXOTE
TOUCHING THE DISENCHANTMENT OF DULCINEA, TOGETHER
WITH
OTHER MARVELLOUS INCIDENTS

DON QUIXOTE

Volume II.

CHAPTER XXXII.

OF THE REPLY DON QUIXOTE GAVE HIS CENSURER,
WITH OTHER INCIDENTS, GRAVE AND DROLL

Don Quixote, then, having risen to his feet, trembling from head to foot
like a man dosed with mercury, said in a hurried, agitated voice, "The place I
am in, the presence in which I stand, and the respect I have and always have

had for the profession to which your worship belongs, hold and bind the
hands of my just indignation; and as well for these reasons as because I
know, as everyone knows, that a gownsman's weapon is the same as a
woman's, the tongue, I will with mine engage in equal combat with your
worship, from whom one might have expected good advice instead of foul
abuse. Pious, well-meant reproof requires a different demeanour and
arguments of another sort; at any rate, to have reproved me in public, and so
roughly, exceeds the bounds of proper reproof, for that comes better with
gentleness than with rudeness; and it is not seemly to call the sinner roundly
blockhead and booby, without knowing anything of the sin that is reproved.
Come, tell me, for which of the stupidities you have observed in me do you
condemn and abuse me, and bid me go home and look after my house and
wife and children, without knowing whether I have any? Is nothing more
needed than to get a footing, by hook or by crook, in other people's houses to
rule over the masters (and that, perhaps, after having been brought up in all
the straitness of some seminary, and without having ever seen more of the
world than may lie within twenty or thirty leagues round), to fit one to lay
down the law rashly for chivalry, and pass judgment on knights-errant? Is it,
haply, an idle occupation, or is the time ill-spent that is spent in roaming the
world in quest, not of its enjoyments, but of those arduous toils whereby the
good mount upwards to the abodes of everlasting life? If gentlemen, great
lords, nobles, men of high birth, were to rate me as a fool I should take it as
an irreparable insult; but I care not a farthing if clerks who have never
entered upon or trod the paths of chivalry should think me foolish. Knight I
am, and knight I will die, if such be the pleasure of the Most High. Some
take the broad road of overweening ambition; others that of mean and servile
flattery; others that of deceitful hypocrisy, and some that of true religion; but
I, led by my star, follow the narrow path of knight-errantry, and in pursuit of
that calling I despise wealth, but not honour. I have redressed injuries,
righted wrongs, punished insolences, vanquished giants, and crushed
monsters; I am in love, for no other reason than that it is incumbent on
knights-errant to be so; but though I am, I am no carnal-minded lover, but
one of the chaste, platonic sort. My intentions are always directed to worthy
ends, to do good to all and evil to none; and if he who means this, does this,
and makes this his practice deserves to be called a fool, it is for your
highnesses to say, O most excellent duke and duchess."

"Good, by God!" cried Sancho; "say no more in your own defence, master
mine, for there's nothing more in the world to be said, thought, or insisted
on; and besides, when this gentleman denies, as he has, that there are or ever
have been any knights-errant in the world, is it any wonder if he knows
nothing of what he has been talking about?"
"Perhaps, brother," said the ecclesiastic, "you are that Sancho Panza that is
mentioned, to whom your master has promised an island?"
"Yes, I am," said Sancho, "and what's more, I am one who deserves it as
much as anyone; I am one of the sort—'Attach thyself to the good, and thou
wilt be one of them,' and of those, 'Not with whom thou art bred, but with
whom thou art fed,' and of those, 'Who leans against a good tree, a good
shade covers him;' I have leant upon a good master, and I have been for
months going about with him, and please God I shall be just such another;
long life to him and long life to me, for neither will he be in any want of
empires to rule, or I of islands to govern."
"No, Sancho my friend, certainly not," said the duke, "for in the name of
Senor Don Quixote I confer upon you the government of one of no small
importance that I have at my disposal."
"Go down on thy knees, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and kiss the feet of
his excellence for the favour he has bestowed upon thee."
Sancho obeyed, and on seeing this the ecclesiastic stood up from table
completely out of temper, exclaiming, "By the gown I wear, I am almost
inclined to say that your excellence is as great a fool as these sinners. No
wonder they are mad, when people who are in their senses sanction their
madness! I leave your excellence with them, for so long as they are in the
house, I will remain in my own, and spare myself the trouble of reproving
what I cannot remedy;" and without uttering another word, or eating another
morsel, he went off, the entreaties of the duke and duchess being entirely
unavailing to stop him; not that the duke said much to him, for he could not,
because of the laughter his uncalled-for anger provoked.
When he had done laughing, he said to Don Quixote, "You have replied
on your own behalf so stoutly, Sir Knight of the Lions, that there is no
occasion to seek further satisfaction for this, which, though it may look like

an offence, is not so at all, for, as women can give no offence, no more can
ecclesiastics, as you very well know."
"That is true," said Don Quixote, "and the reason is, that he who is not
liable to offence cannot give offence to anyone. Women, children, and
ecclesiastics, as they cannot defend themselves, though they may receive
offence cannot be insulted, because between the offence and the insult there
is, as your excellence very well knows, this difference: the insult comes from
one who is capable of offering it, and does so, and maintains it; the offence
may come from any quarter without carrying insult. To take an example: a
man is standing unsuspectingly in the street and ten others come up armed
and beat him; he draws his sword and quits himself like a man, but the
number of his antagonists makes it impossible for him to effect his purpose
and avenge himself; this man suffers an offence but not an insult. Another
example will make the same thing plain: a man is standing with his back
turned, another comes up and strikes him, and after striking him takes to
flight, without waiting an instant, and the other pursues him but does not
overtake him; he who received the blow received an offence, but not an
insult, because an insult must be maintained. If he who struck him, though
he did so sneakingly and treacherously, had drawn his sword and stood and
faced him, then he who had been struck would have received offence and
insult at the same time; offence because he was struck treacherously, insult
because he who struck him maintained what he had done, standing his
ground without taking to flight. And so, according to the laws of the
accursed duel, I may have received offence, but not insult, for neither
women nor children can maintain it, nor can they wound, nor have they any
way of standing their ground, and it is just the same with those connected
with religion; for these three sorts of persons are without arms offensive or
defensive, and so, though naturally they are bound to defend themselves,
they have no right to offend anybody; and though I said just now I might
have received offence, I say now certainly not, for he who cannot receive an
insult can still less give one; for which reasons I ought not to feel, nor do I
feel, aggrieved at what that good man said to me; I only wish he had stayed a
little longer, that I might have shown him the mistake he makes in supposing
and maintaining that there are not and never have been any knights-errant in
the world; had Amadis or any of his countless descendants heard him say as
much, I am sure it would not have gone well with his worship."

"I will take my oath of that," said Sancho; "they would have given him a
slash that would have slit him down from top to toe like a pomegranate or a
ripe melon; they were likely fellows to put up with jokes of that sort! By my
faith, I'm certain if Reinaldos of Montalvan had heard the little man's words
he would have given him such a spank on the mouth that he wouldn't have
spoken for the next three years; ay, let him tackle them, and he'll see how
he'll get out of their hands!"
The duchess, as she listened to Sancho, was ready to die with laughter,
and in her own mind she set him down as droller and madder than his
master; and there were a good many just then who were of the same opinion.
Don Quixote finally grew calm, and dinner came to an end, and as the
cloth was removed four damsels came in, one of them with a silver basin,
another with a jug also of silver, a third with two fine white towels on her
shoulder, and the fourth with her arms bared to the elbows, and in her white
hands (for white they certainly were) a round ball of Naples soap. The one
with the basin approached, and with arch composure and impudence, thrust
it under Don Quixote's chin, who, wondering at such a ceremony, said never
a word, supposing it to be the custom of that country to wash beards instead
of hands; he therefore stretched his out as far as he could, and at the same
instant the jug began to pour and the damsel with the soap rubbed his beard
briskly, raising snow-flakes, for the soap lather was no less white, not only
over the beard, but all over the face, and over the eyes of the submissive
knight, so that they were perforce obliged to keep shut. The duke and
duchess, who had not known anything about this, waited to see what came of
this strange washing. The barber damsel, when she had him a hand's breadth
deep in lather, pretended that there was no more water, and bade the one
with the jug go and fetch some, while Senor Don Quixote waited. She did
so, and Don Quixote was left the strangest and most ludicrous figure that
could be imagined. All those present, and there were a good many, were
watching him, and as they saw him there with half a yard of neck, and that
uncommonly brown, his eyes shut, and his beard full of soap, it was a great
wonder, and only by great discretion, that they were able to restrain their
laughter. The damsels, the concocters of the joke, kept their eyes down, not
daring to look at their master and mistress; and as for them, laughter and
anger struggled within them, and they knew not what to do, whether to

punish the audacity of the girls, or to reward them for the amusement they
had received from seeing Don Quixote in such a plight.
At length the damsel with the jug returned and they made an end of
washing Don Quixote, and the one who carried the towels very deliberately
wiped him and dried him; and all four together making him a profound
obeisance and curtsey, they were about to go, when the duke, lest Don
Quixote should see through the joke, called out to the one with the basin
saying, "Come and wash me, and take care that there is water enough." The
girl, sharp-witted and prompt, came and placed the basin for the duke as she
had done for Don Quixote, and they soon had him well soaped and washed,
and having wiped him dry they made their obeisance and retired. It appeared
afterwards that the duke had sworn that if they had not washed him as they
had Don Quixote he would have punished them for their impudence, which
they adroitly atoned for by soaping him as well.
Sancho observed the ceremony of the washing very attentively, and said to
himself, "God bless me, if it were only the custom in this country to wash
squires' beards too as well as knights'. For by God and upon my soul I want
it badly; and if they gave me a scrape of the razor besides I'd take it as a still
greater kindness."
"What are you saying to yourself, Sancho?" asked the duchess.
"I was saying, senora," he replied, "that in the courts of other princes,
when the cloth is taken away, I have always heard say they give water for the
hands, but not lye for the beard; and that shows it is good to live long that
you may see much; to be sure, they say too that he who lives a long life must
undergo much evil, though to undergo a washing of that sort is pleasure
rather than pain."
"Don't be uneasy, friend Sancho," said the duchess; "I will take care that
my damsels wash you, and even put you in the tub if necessary."
"I'll be content with the beard," said Sancho, "at any rate for the present;
and as for the future, God has decreed what is to be."
"Attend to worthy Sancho's request, seneschal," said the duchess, "and do
exactly what he wishes."

The seneschal replied that Senor Sancho should be obeyed in everything;
and with that he went away to dinner and took Sancho along with him, while
the duke and duchess and Don Quixote remained at table discussing a great
variety of things, but all bearing on the calling of arms and knight-errantry.
The duchess begged Don Quixote, as he seemed to have a retentive
memory, to describe and portray to her the beauty and features of the lady
Dulcinea del Toboso, for, judging by what fame trumpeted abroad of her
beauty, she felt sure she must be the fairest creature in the world, nay, in all
La Mancha.
Don Quixote sighed on hearing the duchess's request, and said, "If I could
pluck out my heart, and lay it on a plate on this table here before your
highness's eyes, it would spare my tongue the pain of telling what can hardly
be thought of, for in it your excellence would see her portrayed in full. But
why should I attempt to depict and describe in detail, and feature by feature,
the beauty of the peerless Dulcinea, the burden being one worthy of other
shoulders than mine, an enterprise wherein the pencils of Parrhasius,
Timantes, and Apelles, and the graver of Lysippus ought to be employed, to
paint it in pictures and carve it in marble and bronze, and Ciceronian and
Demosthenian eloquence to sound its praises?"
"What does Demosthenian mean, Senor Don Quixote?" said the duchess;
"it is a word I never heard in all my life."
"Demosthenian eloquence," said Don Quixote, "means the eloquence of
Demosthenes, as Ciceronian means that of Cicero, who were the two most
eloquent orators in the world."
"True," said the duke; "you must have lost your wits to ask such a
question. Nevertheless, Senor Don Quixote would greatly gratify us if he
would depict her to us; for never fear, even in an outline or sketch she will
be something to make the fairest envious."
"I would do so certainly," said Don Quixote, "had she not been blurred to
my mind's eye by the misfortune that fell upon her a short time since, one of
such a nature that I am more ready to weep over it than to describe it. For
your highnesses must know that, going a few days back to kiss her hands
and receive her benediction, approbation, and permission for this third sally,
I found her altogether a different being from the one I sought; I found her

enchanted and changed from a princess into a peasant, from fair to foul,
from an angel into a devil, from fragrant to pestiferous, from refined to
clownish, from a dignified lady into a jumping tomboy, and, in a word, from
Dulcinea del Toboso into a coarse Sayago wench."
"God bless me!" said the duke aloud at this, "who can have done the
world such an injury? Who can have robbed it of the beauty that gladdened
it, of the grace and gaiety that charmed it, of the modesty that shed a lustre
upon it?"
"Who?" replied Don Quixote; "who could it be but some malignant
enchanter of the many that persecute me out of envy—that accursed race
born into the world to obscure and bring to naught the achievements of the
good, and glorify and exalt the deeds of the wicked? Enchanters have
persecuted me, enchanters persecute me still, and enchanters will continue to
persecute me until they have sunk me and my lofty chivalry in the deep
abyss of oblivion; and they injure and wound me where they know I feel it
most. For to deprive a knight-errant of his lady is to deprive him of the eyes
he sees with, of the sun that gives him light, of the food whereby he lives.
Many a time before have I said it, and I say it now once more, a knight-
errant without a lady is like a tree without leaves, a building without a
foundation, or a shadow without the body that causes it."
"There is no denying it," said the duchess; "but still, if we are to believe
the history of Don Quixote that has come out here lately with general
applause, it is to be inferred from it, if I mistake not, that you never saw the
lady Dulcinea, and that the said lady is nothing in the world but an
imaginary lady, one that you yourself begot and gave birth to in your brain,
and adorned with whatever charms and perfections you chose."
"There is a good deal to be said on that point," said Don Quixote; "God
knows whether there be any Dulcinea or not in the world, or whether she is
imaginary or not imaginary; these are things the proof of which must not be
pushed to extreme lengths. I have not begotten nor given birth to my lady,
though I behold her as she needs must be, a lady who contains in herself all
the qualities to make her famous throughout the world, beautiful without
blemish, dignified without haughtiness, tender and yet modest, gracious
from courtesy and courteous from good breeding, and lastly, of exalted

lineage, because beauty shines forth and excels with a higher degree of
perfection upon good blood than in the fair of lowly birth."
"That is true," said the duke; "but Senor Don Quixote will give me leave
to say what I am constrained to say by the story of his exploits that I have
read, from which it is to be inferred that, granting there is a Dulcinea in El
Toboso, or out of it, and that she is in the highest degree beautiful as you
have described her to us, as regards the loftiness of her lineage she is not on
a par with the Orianas, Alastrajareas, Madasimas, or others of that sort, with
whom, as you well know, the histories abound."
"To that I may reply," said Don Quixote, "that Dulcinea is the daughter of
her own works, and that virtues rectify blood, and that lowly virtue is more
to be regarded and esteemed than exalted vice. Dulcinea, besides, has that
within her that may raise her to be a crowned and sceptred queen; for the
merit of a fair and virtuous woman is capable of performing greater
miracles; and virtually, though not formally, she has in herself higher
fortunes."
"I protest, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess, "that in all you say, you
go most cautiously and lead in hand, as the saying is; henceforth I will
believe myself, and I will take care that everyone in my house believes, even
my lord the duke if needs be, that there is a Dulcinea in El Toboso, and that
she is living to-day, and that she is beautiful and nobly born and deserves to
have such a knight as Senor Don Quixote in her service, and that is the
highest praise that it is in my power to give her or that I can think of. But I
cannot help entertaining a doubt, and having a certain grudge against Sancho
Panza; the doubt is this, that the aforesaid history declares that the said
Sancho Panza, when he carried a letter on your worship's behalf to the said
lady Dulcinea, found her sifting a sack of wheat; and more by token it says it
was red wheat; a thing which makes me doubt the loftiness of her lineage."
To this Don Quixote made answer, "Senora, your highness must know that
everything or almost everything that happens me transcends the ordinary
limits of what happens to other knights-errant; whether it be that it is
directed by the inscrutable will of destiny, or by the malice of some jealous
enchanter. Now it is an established fact that all or most famous knights-
errant have some special gift, one that of being proof against enchantment,
another that of being made of such invulnerable flesh that he cannot be

wounded, as was the famous Roland, one of the twelve peers of France, of
whom it is related that he could not be wounded except in the sole of his left
foot, and that it must be with the point of a stout pin and not with any other
sort of weapon whatever; and so, when Bernardo del Carpio slew him at
Roncesvalles, finding that he could not wound him with steel, he lifted him
up from the ground in his arms and strangled him, calling to mind
seasonably the death which Hercules inflicted on Antaeus, the fierce giant
that they say was the son of Terra. I would infer from what I have mentioned
that perhaps I may have some gift of this kind, not that of being
invulnerable, because experience has many times proved to me that I am of
tender flesh and not at all impenetrable; nor that of being proof against
enchantment, for I have already seen myself thrust into a cage, in which all
the world would not have been able to confine me except by force of
enchantments. But as I delivered myself from that one, I am inclined to
believe that there is no other that can hurt me; and so, these enchanters,
seeing that they cannot exert their vile craft against my person, revenge
themselves on what I love most, and seek to rob me of life by maltreating
that of Dulcinea in whom I live; and therefore I am convinced that when my
squire carried my message to her, they changed her into a common peasant
girl, engaged in such a mean occupation as sifting wheat; I have already
said, however, that that wheat was not red wheat, nor wheat at all, but grains
of orient pearl. And as a proof of all this, I must tell your highnesses that,
coming to El Toboso a short time back, I was altogether unable to discover
the palace of Dulcinea; and that the next day, though Sancho, my squire, saw
her in her own proper shape, which is the fairest in the world, to me she
appeared to be a coarse, ill-favoured farm-wench, and by no means a well-
spoken one, she who is propriety itself. And so, as I am not and, so far as one
can judge, cannot be enchanted, she it is that is enchanted, that is smitten,
that is altered, changed, and transformed; in her have my enemies revenged
themselves upon me, and for her shall I live in ceaseless tears, until I see her
in her pristine state. I have mentioned this lest anybody should mind what
Sancho said about Dulcinea's winnowing or sifting; for, as they changed her
to me, it is no wonder if they changed her to him. Dulcinea is illustrious and
well-born, and of one of the gentle families of El Toboso, which are many,
ancient, and good. Therein, most assuredly, not small is the share of the
peerless Dulcinea, through whom her town will be famous and celebrated in
ages to come, as Troy was through Helen, and Spain through La Cava,
though with a better title and tradition. For another thing; I would have your

graces understand that Sancho Panza is one of the drollest squires that ever
served knight-errant; sometimes there is a simplicity about him so acute that
it is an amusement to try and make out whether he is simple or sharp; he has
mischievous tricks that stamp him rogue, and blundering ways that prove
him a booby; he doubts everything and believes everything; when I fancy he
is on the point of coming down headlong from sheer stupidity, he comes out
with something shrewd that sends him up to the skies. After all, I would not
exchange him for another squire, though I were given a city to boot, and
therefore I am in doubt whether it will be well to send him to the
government your highness has bestowed upon him; though I perceive in him
a certain aptitude for the work of governing, so that, with a little trimming of
his understanding, he would manage any government as easily as the king
does his taxes; and moreover, we know already ample experience that it does
not require much cleverness or much learning to be a governor, for there are
a hundred round about us that scarcely know how to read, and govern like
gerfalcons. The main point is that they should have good intentions and be
desirous of doing right in all things, for they will never be at a loss for
persons to advise and direct them in what they have to do, like those knight-
governors who, being no lawyers, pronounce sentences with the aid of an
assessor. My advice to him will be to take no bribe and surrender no right,
and I have some other little matters in reserve, that shall be produced in due
season for Sancho's benefit and the advantage of the island he is to govern."
The duke, duchess, and Don Quixote had reached this point in their
conversation, when they heard voices and a great hubbub in the palace, and
Sancho burst abruptly into the room all glowing with anger, with a straining-
cloth by way of a bib, and followed by several servants, or, more properly
speaking, kitchen-boys and other underlings, one of whom carried a small
trough full of water, that from its colour and impurity was plainly dishwater.
The one with the trough pursued him and followed him everywhere he went,
endeavouring with the utmost persistence to thrust it under his chin, while
another kitchen-boy seemed anxious to wash his beard.
"What is all this, brothers?" asked the duchess. "What is it? What do you
want to do to this good man? Do you forget he is a governor-elect?"
To which the barber kitchen-boy replied, "The gentleman will not let
himself be washed as is customary, and as my lord and the senor his master
have been."

"Yes, I will," said Sancho, in a great rage; "but I'd like it to be with cleaner
towels, clearer lye, and not such dirty hands; for there's not so much
difference between me and my master that he should be washed with angels'
water and I with devil's lye. The customs of countries and princes' palaces
are only good so long as they give no annoyance; but the way of washing
they have here is worse than doing penance. I have a clean beard, and I don't
require to be refreshed in that fashion, and whoever comes to wash me or
touch a hair of my head, I mean to say my beard, with all due respect be it
said, I'll give him a punch that will leave my fist sunk in his skull; for
cirimonies and soapings of this sort are more like jokes than the polite
attentions of one's host."
The duchess was ready to die with laughter when she saw Sancho's rage
and heard his words; but it was no pleasure to Don Quixote to see him in
such a sorry trim, with the dingy towel about him, and the hangers-on of the
kitchen all round him; so making a low bow to the duke and duchess, as if to
ask their permission to speak, he addressed the rout in a dignified tone:
"Holloa, gentlemen! you let that youth alone, and go back to where you
came from, or anywhere else if you like; my squire is as clean as any other
person, and those troughs are as bad as narrow thin-necked jars to him; take
my advice and leave him alone, for neither he nor I understand joking."
Sancho took the word out of his mouth and went on, "Nay, let them come
and try their jokes on the country bumpkin, for it's about as likely I'll stand
them as that it's now midnight! Let them bring me a comb here, or what they
please, and curry this beard of mine, and if they get anything out of it that
offends against cleanliness, let them clip me to the skin."
Upon this, the duchess, laughing all the while, said, "Sancho Panza is
right, and always will be in all he says; he is clean, and, as he says himself,
he does not require to be washed; and if our ways do not please him, he is
free to choose. Besides, you promoters of cleanliness have been excessively
careless and thoughtless, I don't know if I ought not to say audacious, to
bring troughs and wooden utensils and kitchen dishclouts, instead of basins
and jugs of pure gold and towels of holland, to such a person and such a
beard; but, after all, you are ill-conditioned and ill-bred, and spiteful as you
are, you cannot help showing the grudge you have against the squires of
knights-errant."

The impudent servitors, and even the seneschal who came with them, took
the duchess to be speaking in earnest, so they removed the straining-cloth
from Sancho's neck, and with something like shame and confusion of face
went off all of them and left him; whereupon he, seeing himself safe out of
that extreme danger, as it seemed to him, ran and fell on his knees before the
duchess, saying, "From great ladies great favours may be looked for; this
which your grace has done me today cannot be requited with less than
wishing I was dubbed a knight-errant, to devote myself all the days of my
life to the service of so exalted a lady. I am a labouring man, my name is
Sancho Panza, I am married, I have children, and I am serving as a squire; if
in any one of these ways I can serve your highness, I will not be longer in
obeying than your grace in commanding."
"It is easy to see, Sancho," replied the duchess, "that you have learned to
be polite in the school of politeness itself; I mean to say it is easy to see that
you have been nursed in the bosom of Senor Don Quixote, who is, of course,
the cream of good breeding and flower of ceremony—or cirimony, as you
would say yourself. Fair be the fortunes of such a master and such a servant,
the one the cynosure of knight-errantry, the other the star of squirely fidelity!
Rise, Sancho, my friend; I will repay your courtesy by taking care that my
lord the duke makes good to you the promised gift of the government as
soon as possible."
With this, the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote retired to
take his midday sleep; but the duchess begged Sancho, unless he had a very
great desire to go to sleep, to come and spend the afternoon with her and her
damsels in a very cool chamber. Sancho replied that, though he certainly had
the habit of sleeping four or five hours in the heat of the day in summer, to
serve her excellence he would try with all his might not to sleep even one
that day, and that he would come in obedience to her command, and with
that he went off. The duke gave fresh orders with respect to treating Don
Quixote as a knight-errant, without departing even in smallest particular
from the style in which, as the stories tell us, they used to treat the knights of
old.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

OF THE DELECTABLE DISCOURSE WHICH THE
DUCHESS AND HER DAMSELS HELD WITH SANCHO
PANZA, WELL WORTH READING AND NOTING

The history records that Sancho did not sleep that afternoon, but in order
to keep his word came, before he had well done dinner, to visit the duchess,

who, finding enjoyment in listening to him, made him sit down beside her on
a low seat, though Sancho, out of pure good breeding, wanted not to sit
down; the duchess, however, told him he was to sit down as governor and
talk as squire, as in both respects he was worthy of even the chair of the Cid
Ruy Diaz the Campeador. Sancho shrugged his shoulders, obeyed, and sat
down, and all the duchess's damsels and duennas gathered round him,
waiting in profound silence to hear what he would say. It was the duchess,
however, who spoke first, saying:
"Now that we are alone, and that there is nobody here to overhear us, I
should be glad if the senor governor would relieve me of certain doubts I
have, rising out of the history of the great Don Quixote that is now in print.
One is: inasmuch as worthy Sancho never saw Dulcinea, I mean the lady
Dulcinea del Toboso, nor took Don Quixote's letter to her, for it was left in
the memorandum book in the Sierra Morena, how did he dare to invent the
answer and all that about finding her sifting wheat, the whole story being a
deception and falsehood, and so much to the prejudice of the peerless
Dulcinea's good name, a thing that is not at all becoming the character and
fidelity of a good squire?"

At these words, Sancho, without uttering one in reply, got up from his
chair, and with noiseless steps, with his body bent and his finger on his lips,
went all round the room lifting up the hangings; and this done, he came back
to his seat and said, "Now, senora, that I have seen that there is no one
except the bystanders listening to us on the sly, I will answer what you have
asked me, and all you may ask me, without fear or dread. And the first thing
I have got to say is, that for my own part I hold my master Don Quixote to
be stark mad, though sometimes he says things that, to my mind, and indeed
everybody's that listens to him, are so wise, and run in such a straight furrow,
that Satan himself could not have said them better; but for all that, really, and
beyond all question, it's my firm belief he is cracked. Well, then, as this is
clear to my mind, I can venture to make him believe things that have neither
head nor tail, like that affair of the answer to the letter, and that other of six
or eight days ago, which is not yet in history, that is to say, the affair of the
enchantment of my lady Dulcinea; for I made him believe she is enchanted,
though there's no more truth in it than over the hills of Ubeda."
The duchess begged him to tell her about the enchantment or deception,
so Sancho told the whole story exactly as it had happened, and his hearers
were not a little amused by it; and then resuming, the duchess said, "In
consequence of what worthy Sancho has told me, a doubt starts up in my
mind, and there comes a kind of whisper to my ear that says, 'If Don Quixote
be mad, crazy, and cracked, and Sancho Panza his squire knows it, and,
notwithstanding, serves and follows him, and goes trusting to his empty
promises, there can be no doubt he must be still madder and sillier than his
master; and that being so, it will be cast in your teeth, senora duchess, if you
give the said Sancho an island to govern; for how will he who does not know
how to govern himself know how to govern others?'"
"By God, senora," said Sancho, "but that doubt comes timely; but your
grace may say it out, and speak plainly, or as you like; for I know what you
say is true, and if I were wise I should have left my master long ago; but this
was my fate, this was my bad luck; I can't help it, I must follow him; we're
from the same village, I've eaten his bread, I'm fond of him, I'm grateful, he
gave me his ass-colts, and above all I'm faithful; so it's quite impossible for
anything to separate us, except the pickaxe and shovel. And if your highness

does not like to give me the government you promised, God made me
without it, and maybe your not giving it to me will be all the better for my
conscience, for fool as I am I know the proverb 'to her hurt the ant got
wings,' and it may be that Sancho the squire will get to heaven sooner than
Sancho the governor. 'They make as good bread here as in France,' and 'by
night all cats are grey,' and 'a hard case enough his, who hasn't broken his
fast at two in the afternoon,' and 'there's no stomach a hand's breadth bigger
than another,' and the same can be filled 'with straw or hay,' as the saying is,
and 'the little birds of the field have God for their purveyor and caterer,' and
'four yards of Cuenca frieze keep one warmer than four of Segovia broad-
cloth,' and 'when we quit this world and are put underground the prince
travels by as narrow a path as the journeyman,' and 'the Pope's body does not
take up more feet of earth than the sacristan's,' for all that the one is higher
than the other; for when we go to our graves we all pack ourselves up and
make ourselves small, or rather they pack us up and make us small in spite
of us, and then—good night to us. And I say once more, if your ladyship
does not like to give me the island because I'm a fool, like a wise man I will
take care to give myself no trouble about it; I have heard say that 'behind the
cross there's the devil,' and that 'all that glitters is not gold,' and that from
among the oxen, and the ploughs, and the yokes, Wamba the husbandman
was taken to be made King of Spain, and from among brocades, and
pleasures, and riches, Roderick was taken to be devoured by adders, if the
verses of the old ballads don't lie."
"To be sure they don't lie!" exclaimed Dona Rodriguez, the duenna, who
was one of the listeners. "Why, there's a ballad that says they put King
Rodrigo alive into a tomb full of toads, and adders, and lizards, and that two
days afterwards the king, in a plaintive, feeble voice, cried out from within
the tomb-

They gnaw me now, they gnaw me now,
There where I most did sin.

And according to that the gentleman has good reason to say he would
rather be a labouring man than a king, if vermin are to eat him."

The duchess could not help laughing at the simplicity of her duenna, or
wondering at the language and proverbs of Sancho, to whom she said,
"Worthy Sancho knows very well that when once a knight has made a
promise he strives to keep it, though it should cost him his life. My lord and
husband the duke, though not one of the errant sort, is none the less a knight
for that reason, and will keep his word about the promised island, in spite of
the envy and malice of the world. Let Sancho he of good cheer; for when he
least expects it he will find himself seated on the throne of his island and
seat of dignity, and will take possession of his government that he may
discard it for another of three-bordered brocade. The charge I give him is to
be careful how he governs his vassals, bearing in mind that they are all loyal
and well-born."
"As to governing them well," said Sancho, "there's no need of charging
me to do that, for I'm kind-hearted by nature, and full of compassion for the
poor; there's no stealing the loaf from him who kneads and bakes;' and by
my faith it won't do to throw false dice with me; I am an old dog, and I know
all about 'tus, tus;' I can be wide-awake if need be, and I don't let clouds
come before my eyes, for I know where the shoe pinches me; I say so,
because with me the good will have support and protection, and the bad
neither footing nor access. And it seems to me that, in governments, to make
a beginning is everything; and maybe, after having been governor a
fortnight, I'll take kindly to the work and know more about it than the field
labour I have been brought up to."
"You are right, Sancho," said the duchess, "for no one is born ready
taught, and the bishops are made out of men and not out of stones. But to
return to the subject we were discussing just now, the enchantment of the
lady Dulcinea, I look upon it as certain, and something more than evident,
that Sancho's idea of practising a deception upon his master, making him
believe that the peasant girl was Dulcinea and that if he did not recognise her
it must be because she was enchanted, was all a device of one of the
enchanters that persecute Don Quixote. For in truth and earnest, I know from
good authority that the coarse country wench who jumped up on the ass was
and is Dulcinea del Toboso, and that worthy Sancho, though he fancies
himself the deceiver, is the one that is deceived; and that there is no more
reason to doubt the truth of this, than of anything else we never saw. Senor
Sancho Panza must know that we too have enchanters here that are well

disposed to us, and tell us what goes on in the world, plainly and distinctly,
without subterfuge or deception; and believe me, Sancho, that agile country
lass was and is Dulcinea del Toboso, who is as much enchanted as the
mother that bore her; and when we least expect it, we shall see her in her
own proper form, and then Sancho will be disabused of the error he is under
at present."
"All that's very possible," said Sancho Panza; "and now I'm willing to
believe what my master says about what he saw in the cave of Montesinos,
where he says he saw the lady Dulcinea del Toboso in the very same dress
and apparel that I said I had seen her in when I enchanted her all to please
myself. It must be all exactly the other way, as your ladyship says; because it
is impossible to suppose that out of my poor wit such a cunning trick could
be concocted in a moment, nor do I think my master is so mad that by my
weak and feeble persuasion he could be made to believe a thing so out of all
reason. But, senora, your excellence must not therefore think me ill-
disposed, for a dolt like me is not bound to see into the thoughts and plots of
those vile enchanters. I invented all that to escape my master's scolding, and
not with any intention of hurting him; and if it has turned out differently,
there is a God in heaven who judges our hearts."
"That is true," said the duchess; "but tell me, Sancho, what is this you say
about the cave of Montesinos, for I should like to know."
Sancho upon this related to her, word for word, what has been said already
touching that adventure, and having heard it the duchess said, "From this
occurrence it may be inferred that, as the great Don Quixote says he saw
there the same country wench Sancho saw on the way from El Toboso, it is,
no doubt, Dulcinea, and that there are some very active and exceedingly
busy enchanters about."
"So I say," said Sancho, "and if my lady Dulcinea is enchanted, so much
the worse for her, and I'm not going to pick a quarrel with my master's
enemies, who seem to be many and spiteful. The truth is that the one I saw
was a country wench, and I set her down to be a country wench; and if that
was Dulcinea it must not be laid at my door, nor should I be called to answer
for it or take the consequences. But they must go nagging at me at every step
—'Sancho said it, Sancho did it, Sancho here, Sancho there,' as if Sancho
was nobody at all, and not that same Sancho Panza that's now going all over

the world in books, so Samson Carrasco told me, and he's at any rate one
that's a bachelor of Salamanca; and people of that sort can't lie, except when
the whim seizes them or they have some very good reason for it. So there's
no occasion for anybody to quarrel with me; and then I have a good
character, and, as I have heard my master say, 'a good name is better than
great riches;' let them only stick me into this government and they'll see
wonders, for one who has been a good squire will be a good governor."
"All worthy Sancho's observations," said the duchess, "are Catonian
sentences, or at any rate out of the very heart of Michael Verino himself,
who florentibus occidit annis. In fact, to speak in his own style, 'under a bad
cloak there's often a good drinker.'"
"Indeed, senora," said Sancho, "I never yet drank out of wickedness; from
thirst I have very likely, for I have nothing of the hypocrite in me; I drink
when I'm inclined, or, if I'm not inclined, when they offer it to me, so as not
to look either strait-laced or ill-bred; for when a friend drinks one's health
what heart can be so hard as not to return it? But if I put on my shoes I don't
dirty them; besides, squires to knights-errant mostly drink water, for they are
always wandering among woods, forests and meadows, mountains and
crags, without a drop of wine to be had if they gave their eyes for it."
"So I believe," said the duchess; "and now let Sancho go and take his
sleep, and we will talk by-and-by at greater length, and settle how he may
soon go and stick himself into the government, as he says."
Sancho once more kissed the duchess's hand, and entreated her to let good
care be taken of his Dapple, for he was the light of his eyes.
"What is Dapple?" said the duchess.
"My ass," said Sancho, "which, not to mention him by that name, I'm
accustomed to call Dapple; I begged this lady duenna here to take care of
him when I came into the castle, and she got as angry as if I had said she was
ugly or old, though it ought to be more natural and proper for duennas to
feed asses than to ornament chambers. God bless me! what a spite a
gentleman of my village had against these ladies!"
"He must have been some clown," said Dona Rodriguez the duenna; "for
if he had been a gentleman and well-born he would have exalted them higher

than the horns of the moon."
"That will do," said the duchess; "no more of this; hush, Dona Rodriguez,
and let Senor Panza rest easy and leave the treatment of Dapple in my
charge, for as he is a treasure of Sancho's, I'll put him on the apple of my
eye."
"It will be enough for him to be in the stable," said Sancho, "for neither he
nor I are worthy to rest a moment in the apple of your highness's eye, and I'd
as soon stab myself as consent to it; for though my master says that in
civilities it is better to lose by a card too many than a card too few, when it
comes to civilities to asses we must mind what we are about and keep within
due bounds."
"Take him to your government, Sancho," said the duchess, "and there you
will be able to make as much of him as you like, and even release him from
work and pension him off."
"Don't think, senora duchess, that you have said anything absurd," said
Sancho; "I have seen more than two asses go to governments, and for me to
take mine with me would be nothing new."
Sancho's words made the duchess laugh again and gave her fresh
amusement, and dismissing him to sleep she went away to tell the duke the
conversation she had had with him, and between them they plotted and
arranged to play a joke upon Don Quixote that was to be a rare one and
entirely in knight-errantry style, and in that same style they practised several
upon him, so much in keeping and so clever that they form the best
adventures this great history contains.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

WHICH RELATES HOW THEY LEARNED THE WAY IN
WHICH THEY WERE TO DISENCHANT THE PEERLESS
DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO, WHICH IS ONE OF THE
RAREST ADVENTURES IN THIS BOOK

Great was the pleasure the duke and duchess took in the conversation of
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; and, more bent than ever upon the plan they

had of practising some jokes upon them that should have the look and
appearance of adventures, they took as their basis of action what Don
Quixote had already told them about the cave of Montesinos, in order to play
him a famous one. But what the duchess marvelled at above all was that
Sancho's simplicity could be so great as to make him believe as absolute
truth that Dulcinea had been enchanted, when it was he himself who had
been the enchanter and trickster in the business. Having, therefore, instructed
their servants in everything they were to do, six days afterwards they took
him out to hunt, with as great a retinue of huntsmen and beaters as a
crowned king.
They presented Don Quixote with a hunting suit, and Sancho with another
of the finest green cloth; but Don Quixote declined to put his on, saying that
he must soon return to the hard pursuit of arms, and could not carry
wardrobes or stores with him. Sancho, however, took what they gave him,
meaning to sell it the first opportunity.
The appointed day having arrived, Don Quixote armed himself, and
Sancho arrayed himself, and mounted on his Dapple (for he would not give
him up though they offered him a horse), he placed himself in the midst of
the troop of huntsmen. The duchess came out splendidly attired, and Don
Quixote, in pure courtesy and politeness, held the rein of her palfrey, though
the duke wanted not to allow him; and at last they reached a wood that lay
between two high mountains, where, after occupying various posts,
ambushes, and paths, and distributing the party in different positions, the
hunt began with great noise, shouting, and hallooing, so that, between the
baying of the hounds and the blowing of the horns, they could not hear one
another. The duchess dismounted, and with a sharp boar-spear in her hand
posted herself where she knew the wild boars were in the habit of passing.
The duke and Don Quixote likewise dismounted and placed themselves one
at each side of her. Sancho took up a position in the rear of all without
dismounting from Dapple, whom he dared not desert lest some mischief
should befall him. Scarcely had they taken their stand in a line with several
of their servants, when they saw a huge boar, closely pressed by the hounds
and followed by the huntsmen, making towards them, grinding his teeth and
tusks, and scattering foam from his mouth. As soon as he saw him Don
Quixote, bracing his shield on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced to
meet him; the duke with boar-spear did the same; but the duchess would

have gone in front of them all had not the duke prevented her. Sancho alone,
deserting Dapple at the sight of the mighty beast, took to his heels as hard as
he could and strove in vain to mount a tall oak. As he was clinging to a
branch, however, half-way up in his struggle to reach the top, the bough,
such was his ill-luck and hard fate, gave way, and caught in his fall by a
broken limb of the oak, he hung suspended in the air unable to reach the
ground. Finding himself in this position, and that the green coat was
beginning to tear, and reflecting that if the fierce animal came that way he
might be able to get at him, he began to utter such cries, and call for help so
earnestly, that all who heard him and did not see him felt sure he must be in
the teeth of some wild beast. In the end the tusked boar fell pierced by the
blades of the many spears they held in front of him; and Don Quixote,
turning round at the cries of Sancho, for he knew by them that it was he, saw
him hanging from the oak head downwards, with Dapple, who did not
forsake him in his distress, close beside him; and Cide Hamete observes that
he seldom saw Sancho Panza without seeing Dapple, or Dapple without
seeing Sancho Panza; such was their attachment and loyalty one to the other.
Don Quixote went over and unhooked Sancho, who, as soon as he found
himself on the ground, looked at the rent in his huntingcoat and was grieved
to the heart, for he thought he had got a patrimonial estate in that suit.
Meanwhile they had slung the mighty boar across the back of a mule, and
having covered it with sprigs of rosemary and branches of myrtle, they bore
it away as the spoils of victory to some large field-tents which had been
pitched in the middle of the wood, where they found the tables laid and
dinner served, in such grand and sumptuous style that it was easy to see the
rank and magnificence of those who had provided it. Sancho, as he showed
the rents in his torn suit to the duchess, observed, "If we had been hunting
hares, or after small birds, my coat would have been safe from being in the
plight it's in; I don't know what pleasure one can find in lying in wait for an
animal that may take your life with his tusk if he gets at you. I recollect
having heard an old ballad sung that says,

By bears be thou devoured, as erst
Was famous Favila."

"That," said Don Quixote, "was a Gothic king, who, going a-hunting, was
devoured by a bear."
"Just so," said Sancho; "and I would not have kings and princes expose
themselves to such dangers for the sake of a pleasure which, to my mind,
ought not to be one, as it consists in killing an animal that has done no harm
whatever."
"Quite the contrary, Sancho; you are wrong there," said the duke; "for
hunting is more suitable and requisite for kings and princes than for anybody
else. The chase is the emblem of war; it has stratagems, wiles, and crafty
devices for overcoming the enemy in safety; in it extreme cold and
intolerable heat have to be borne, indolence and sleep are despised, the
bodily powers are invigorated, the limbs of him who engages in it are made
supple, and, in a word, it is a pursuit which may be followed without injury
to anyone and with enjoyment to many; and the best of it is, it is not for
everybody, as field-sports of other sorts are, except hawking, which also is
only for kings and great lords. Reconsider your opinion therefore, Sancho,
and when you are governor take to hunting, and you will find the good of it."
"Nay," said Sancho, "the good governor should have a broken leg and
keep at home;" it would be a nice thing if, after people had been at the
trouble of coming to look for him on business, the governor were to be away
in the forest enjoying himself; the government would go on badly in that
fashion. By my faith, senor, hunting and amusements are more fit for idlers
than for governors; what I intend to amuse myself with is playing all fours at
Eastertime, and bowls on Sundays and holidays; for these huntings don't suit
my condition or agree with my conscience."
"God grant it may turn out so," said the duke; "because it's a long step
from saying to doing."
"Be that as it may," said Sancho, "'pledges don't distress a good payer,' and
'he whom God helps does better than he who gets up early,' and 'it's the tripes
that carry the feet and not the feet the tripes;' I mean to say that if God gives
me help and I do my duty honestly, no doubt I'll govern better than a
gerfalcon. Nay, let them only put a finger in my mouth, and they'll see
whether I can bite or not."

"The curse of God and all his saints upon thee, thou accursed Sancho!"
exclaimed Don Quixote; "when will the day come—as I have often said to
thee—when I shall hear thee make one single coherent, rational remark
without proverbs? Pray, your highnesses, leave this fool alone, for he will
grind your souls between, not to say two, but two thousand proverbs,
dragged in as much in season, and as much to the purpose as—may God
grant as much health to him, or to me if I want to listen to them!"
"Sancho Panza's proverbs," said the duchess, "though more in number
than the Greek Commander's, are not therefore less to be esteemed for the
conciseness of the maxims. For my own part, I can say they give me more
pleasure than others that may be better brought in and more seasonably
introduced."
In pleasant conversation of this sort they passed out of the tent into the
wood, and the day was spent in visiting some of the posts and hiding-places,
and then night closed in, not, however, as brilliantly or tranquilly as might
have been expected at the season, for it was then midsummer; but bringing
with it a kind of haze that greatly aided the project of the duke and duchess;
and thus, as night began to fall, and a little after twilight set in, suddenly the
whole wood on all four sides seemed to be on fire, and shortly after, here,
there, on all sides, a vast number of trumpets and other military instruments
were heard, as if several troops of cavalry were passing through the wood.
The blaze of the fire and the noise of the warlike instruments almost blinded
the eyes and deafened the ears of those that stood by, and indeed of all who
were in the wood. Then there were heard repeated lelilies after the fashion of
the Moors when they rush to battle; trumpets and clarions brayed, drums
beat, fifes played, so unceasingly and so fast that he could not have had any
senses who did not lose them with the confused din of so many instruments.
The duke was astounded, the duchess amazed, Don Quixote wondering,
Sancho Panza trembling, and indeed, even they who were aware of the cause
were frightened. In their fear, silence fell upon them, and a postillion, in the
guise of a demon, passed in front of them, blowing, in lieu of a bugle, a huge
hollow horn that gave out a horrible hoarse note.
"Ho there! brother courier," cried the duke, "who are you? Where are you
going? What troops are these that seem to be passing through the wood?"

To which the courier replied in a harsh, discordant voice, "I am the devil; I
am in search of Don Quixote of La Mancha; those who are coming this way
are six troops of enchanters, who are bringing on a triumphal car the peerless
Dulcinea del Toboso; she comes under enchantment, together with the
gallant Frenchman Montesinos, to give instructions to Don Quixote as to
how, she the said lady, may be disenchanted."
"If you were the devil, as you say and as your appearance indicates," said
the duke, "you would have known the said knight Don Quixote of La
Mancha, for you have him here before you."
"By God and upon my conscience," said the devil, "I never observed it,
for my mind is occupied with so many different things that I was forgetting
the main thing I came about."
"This demon must be an honest fellow and a good Christian," said
Sancho; "for if he wasn't he wouldn't swear by God and his conscience; I
feel sure now there must be good souls even in hell itself."
Without dismounting, the demon then turned to Don Quixote and said,
"The unfortunate but valiant knight Montesinos sends me to thee, the Knight
of the Lions (would that I saw thee in their claws), bidding me tell thee to
wait for him wherever I may find thee, as he brings with him her whom they
call Dulcinea del Toboso, that he may show thee what is needful in order to
disenchant her; and as I came for no more I need stay no longer; demons of
my sort be with thee, and good angels with these gentles;" and so saying he
blew his huge horn, turned about and went off without waiting for a reply
from anyone.
They all felt fresh wonder, but particularly Sancho and Don Quixote;
Sancho to see how, in defiance of the truth, they would have it that Dulcinea
was enchanted; Don Quixote because he could not feel sure whether what
had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos was true or not; and as he
was deep in these cogitations the duke said to him, "Do you mean to wait,
Senor Don Quixote?"
"Why not?" replied he; "here will I wait, fearless and firm, though all hell
should come to attack me."

"Well then, if I see another devil or hear another horn like the last, I'll wait
here as much as in Flanders," said Sancho.
Night now closed in more completely, and many lights began to flit
through the wood, just as those fiery exhalations from the earth, that look
like shooting-stars to our eyes, flit through the heavens; a frightful noise,
too, was heard, like that made by the solid wheels the ox-carts usually have,
by the harsh, ceaseless creaking of which, they say, the bears and wolves are
put to flight, if there happen to be any where they are passing. In addition to
all this commotion, there came a further disturbance to increase the tumult,
for now it seemed as if in truth, on all four sides of the wood, four
encounters or battles were going on at the same time; in one quarter
resounded the dull noise of a terrible cannonade, in another numberless
muskets were being discharged, the shouts of the combatants sounded
almost close at hand, and farther away the Moorish lelilies were raised again
and again. In a word, the bugles, the horns, the clarions, the trumpets, the
drums, the cannon, the musketry, and above all the tremendous noise of the
carts, all made up together a din so confused and terrific that Don Quixote
had need to summon up all his courage to brave it; but Sancho's gave way,
and he fell fainting on the skirt of the duchess's robe, who let him lie there
and promptly bade them throw water in his face. This was done, and he
came to himself by the time that one of the carts with the creaking wheels
reached the spot. It was drawn by four plodding oxen all covered with black
housings; on each horn they had fixed a large lighted wax taper, and on the
top of the cart was constructed a raised seat, on which sat a venerable old
man with a beard whiter than the very snow, and so long that it fell below his
waist; he was dressed in a long robe of black buckram; for as the cart was
thickly set with a multitude of candles it was easy to make out everything
that was on it. Leading it were two hideous demons, also clad in buckram,
with countenances so frightful that Sancho, having once seen them, shut his
eyes so as not to see them again. As soon as the cart came opposite the spot
the old man rose from his lofty seat, and standing up said in a loud voice, "I
am the sage Lirgandeo," and without another word the cart then passed on.
Behind it came another of the same form, with another aged man enthroned,
who, stopping the cart, said in a voice no less solemn than that of the first, "I
am the sage Alquife, the great friend of Urganda the Unknown," and passed
on. Then another cart came by at the same pace, but the occupant of the
throne was not old like the others, but a man stalwart and robust, and of a

forbidding countenance, who as he came up said in a voice far hoarser and
more devilish, "I am the enchanter Archelaus, the mortal enemy of Amadis
of Gaul and all his kindred," and then passed on. Having gone a short
distance the three carts halted and the monotonous noise of their wheels
ceased, and soon after they heard another, not noise, but sound of sweet,
harmonious music, of which Sancho was very glad, taking it to be a good
sign; and said he to the duchess, from whom he did not stir a step, or for a
single instant, "Senora, where there's music there can't be mischief."
"Nor where there are lights and it is bright," said the duchess; to which
Sancho replied, "Fire gives light, and it's bright where there are bonfires, as
we see by those that are all round us and perhaps may burn us; but music is a
sign of mirth and merrymaking."
"That remains to be seen," said Don Quixote, who was listening to all that
passed; and he was right, as is shown in the following chapter.

CHAPTER XXXV.

WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE INSTRUCTION GIVEN TO
DON QUIXOTE TOUCHING THE DISENCHANTMENT OF
DULCINEA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MARVELLOUS
INCIDENTS

They saw advancing towards them, to the sound of this pleasing music,
what they call a triumphal car, drawn by six grey mules with white linen
housings, on each of which was mounted a penitent, robed also in white,
with a large lighted wax taper in his hand. The car was twice or, perhaps,
three times as large as the former ones, and in front and on the sides stood

twelve more penitents, all as white as snow and all with lighted tapers, a
spectacle to excite fear as well as wonder; and on a raised throne was seated
a nymph draped in a multitude of silver-tissue veils with an embroidery of
countless gold spangles glittering all over them, that made her appear, if not
richly, at least brilliantly, apparelled. She had her face covered with thin
transparent sendal, the texture of which did not prevent the fair features of a
maiden from being distinguished, while the numerous lights made it possible
to judge of her beauty and of her years, which seemed to be not less than
seventeen but not to have yet reached twenty. Beside her was a figure in a
robe of state, as they call it, reaching to the feet, while the head was covered
with a black veil. But the instant the car was opposite the duke and duchess
and Don Quixote the music of the clarions ceased, and then that of the lutes
and harps on the car, and the figure in the robe rose up, and flinging it apart
and removing the veil from its face, disclosed to their eyes the shape of
Death itself, fleshless and hideous, at which sight Don Quixote felt uneasy,
Sancho frightened, and the duke and duchess displayed a certain trepidation.
Having risen to its feet, this living death, in a sleepy voice and with a tongue
hardly awake, held forth as follows:

I am that Merlin who the legends say
The devil had for father, and the lie
Hath gathered credence with the lapse of time.
Of magic prince, of Zoroastric lore
Monarch and treasurer, with jealous eye
I view the efforts of the age to hide
The gallant deeds of doughty errant knights,
Who are, and ever have been, dear to me.
Enchanters and magicians and their kind

Are mostly hard of heart; not so am I;
For mine is tender, soft, compassionate,
And its delight is doing good to all.
In the dim caverns of the gloomy Dis,
Where, tracing mystic lines and characters,
My soul abideth now, there came to me
The sorrow-laden plaint of her, the fair,
The peerless Dulcinea del Toboso.
I knew of her enchantment and her fate,
From high-born dame to peasant wench transformed
And touched with pity, first I turned the leaves
Of countless volumes of my devilish craft,
And then, in this grim grisly skeleton
Myself encasing, hither have I come
To show where lies the fitting remedy
To give relief in such a piteous case.
O thou, the pride and pink of all that wear

The adamantine steel! O shining light,
O beacon, polestar, path and guide of all
Who, scorning slumber and the lazy down,
Adopt the toilsome life of bloodstained arms!
To thee, great hero who all praise transcends,
La Mancha's lustre and Iberia's star,
Don Quixote, wise as brave, to thee I say—
For peerless Dulcinea del Toboso

Her pristine form and beauty to regain,
'T is needful that thy esquire Sancho shall,
On his own sturdy buttocks bared to heaven,
Three thousand and three hundred lashes lay,
And that they smart and sting and hurt him well.
Thus have the authors of her woe resolved.
And this is, gentles, wherefore I have come.

"By all that's good," exclaimed Sancho at this, "I'll just as soon give
myself three stabs with a dagger as three, not to say three thousand, lashes.
The devil take such a way of disenchanting! I don't see what my backside
has got to do with enchantments. By God, if Senor Merlin has not found out
some other way of disenchanting the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, she may go
to her grave enchanted."
"But I'll take you, Don Clown stuffed with garlic," said Don Quixote, "and
tie you to a tree as naked as when your mother brought you forth, and give
you, not to say three thousand three hundred, but six thousand six hundred
lashes, and so well laid on that they won't be got rid of if you try three
thousand three hundred times; don't answer me a word or I'll tear your soul
out."
On hearing this Merlin said, "That will not do, for the lashes worthy
Sancho has to receive must be given of his own free will and not by force,
and at whatever time he pleases, for there is no fixed limit assigned to him;
but it is permitted him, if he likes to commute by half the pain of this
whipping, to let them be given by the hand of another, though it may be
somewhat weighty."
"Not a hand, my own or anybody else's, weighty or weighable, shall touch
me," said Sancho. "Was it I that gave birth to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso,
that my backside is to pay for the sins of her eyes? My master, indeed, that's
a part of her—for, he's always calling her 'my life' and 'my soul,' and his stay
and prop—may and ought to whip himself for her and take all the trouble
required for her disenchantment. But for me to whip myself! Abernuncio!"
As soon as Sancho had done speaking the nymph in silver that was at the
side of Merlin's ghost stood up, and removing the thin veil from her face

disclosed one that seemed to all something more than exceedingly beautiful;
and with a masculine freedom from embarrassment and in a voice not very
like a lady's, addressing Sancho directly, said, "Thou wretched squire, soul
of a pitcher, heart of a cork tree, with bowels of flint and pebbles; if, thou
impudent thief, they bade thee throw thyself down from some lofty tower; if,
enemy of mankind, they asked thee to swallow a dozen of toads, two of
lizards, and three of adders; if they wanted thee to slay thy wife and children
with a sharp murderous scimitar, it would be no wonder for thee to show
thyself stubborn and squeamish. But to make a piece of work about three
thousand three hundred lashes, what every poor little charity-boy gets every
month—it is enough to amaze, astonish, astound the compassionate bowels
of all who hear it, nay, all who come to hear it in the course of time. Turn, O
miserable, hard-hearted animal, turn, I say, those timorous owl's eyes upon
these of mine that are compared to radiant stars, and thou wilt see them
weeping trickling streams and rills, and tracing furrows, tracks, and paths
over the fair fields of my cheeks. Let it move thee, crafty, ill-conditioned
monster, to see my blooming youth—still in its teens, for I am not yet twenty
—wasting and withering away beneath the husk of a rude peasant wench;
and if I do not appear in that shape now, it is a special favour Senor Merlin
here has granted me, to the sole end that my beauty may soften thee; for the
tears of beauty in distress turn rocks into cotton and tigers into ewes. Lay on
to that hide of thine, thou great untamed brute, rouse up thy lusty vigour that
only urges thee to eat and eat, and set free the softness of my flesh, the
gentleness of my nature, and the fairness of my face. And if thou wilt not
relent or come to reason for me, do so for the sake of that poor knight thou
hast beside thee; thy master I mean, whose soul I can this moment see, how
he has it stuck in his throat not ten fingers from his lips, and only waiting for
thy inflexible or yielding reply to make its escape by his mouth or go back
again into his stomach."
Don Quixote on hearing this felt his throat, and turning to the duke he
said, "By God, senor, Dulcinea says true, I have my soul stuck here in my
throat like the nut of a crossbow."
"What say you to this, Sancho?" said the duchess.
"I say, senora," returned Sancho, "what I said before; as for the lashes,
abernuncio!"

"Abrenuncio, you should say, Sancho, and not as you do," said the duke.
"Let me alone, your highness," said Sancho. "I'm not in a humour now to
look into niceties or a letter more or less, for these lashes that are to be given
me, or I'm to give myself, have so upset me, that I don't know what I'm
saying or doing. But I'd like to know of this lady, my lady Dulcinea del
Toboso, where she learned this way she has of asking favours. She comes to
ask me to score my flesh with lashes, and she calls me soul of a pitcher, and
great untamed brute, and a string of foul names that the devil is welcome to.
Is my flesh brass? or is it anything to me whether she is enchanted or not?
Does she bring with her a basket of fair linen, shirts, kerchiefs, socks—not
that wear any—to coax me? No, nothing but one piece of abuse after
another, though she knows the proverb they have here that 'an ass loaded
with gold goes lightly up a mountain,' and that 'gifts break rocks,' and
'praying to God and plying the hammer,' and that 'one "take" is better than
two "I'll give thee's."' Then there's my master, who ought to stroke me down
and pet me to make me turn wool and carded cotton; he says if he gets hold
of me he'll tie me naked to a tree and double the tale of lashes on me. These
tender-hearted gentry should consider that it's not merely a squire, but a
governor they are asking to whip himself; just as if it was 'drink with
cherries.' Let them learn, plague take them, the right way to ask, and beg,
and behave themselves; for all times are not alike, nor are people always in
good humour. I'm now ready to burst with grief at seeing my green coat torn,
and they come to ask me to whip myself of my own free will, I having as
little fancy for it as for turning cacique."
"Well then, the fact is, friend Sancho," said the duke, "that unless you
become softer than a ripe fig, you shall not get hold of the government. It
would be a nice thing for me to send my islanders a cruel governor with
flinty bowels, who won't yield to the tears of afflicted damsels or to the
prayers of wise, magisterial, ancient enchanters and sages. In short, Sancho,
either you must be whipped by yourself, or they must whip you, or you
shan't be governor."
"Senor," said Sancho, "won't two days' grace be given me in which to
consider what is best for me?"
"No, certainly not," said Merlin; "here, this minute, and on the spot, the
matter must be settled; either Dulcinea will return to the cave of Montesinos

and to her former condition of peasant wench, or else in her present form
shall be carried to the Elysian fields, where she will remain waiting until the
number of stripes is completed."
"Now then, Sancho!" said the duchess, "show courage, and gratitude for
your master Don Quixote's bread that you have eaten; we are all bound to
oblige and please him for his benevolent disposition and lofty chivalry.
Consent to this whipping, my son; to the devil with the devil, and leave fear
to milksops, for 'a stout heart breaks bad luck,' as you very well know."
To this Sancho replied with an irrelevant remark, which, addressing
Merlin, he made to him, "Will your worship tell me, Senor Merlin—when
that courier devil came up he gave my master a message from Senor
Montesinos, charging him to wait for him here, as he was coming to arrange
how the lady Dona Dulcinea del Toboso was to be disenchanted; but up to
the present we have not seen Montesinos, nor anything like him."
To which Merlin made answer, "The devil, Sancho, is a blockhead and a
great scoundrel; I sent him to look for your master, but not with a message
from Montesinos but from myself; for Montesinos is in his cave expecting,
or more properly speaking, waiting for his disenchantment; for there's the
tail to be skinned yet for him; if he owes you anything, or you have any
business to transact with him, I'll bring him to you and put him where you
choose; but for the present make up your mind to consent to this penance,
and believe me it will be very good for you, for soul as well for body—for
your soul because of the charity with which you perform it, for your body
because I know that you are of a sanguine habit and it will do you no harm
to draw a little blood."
"There are a great many doctors in the world; even the enchanters are
doctors," said Sancho; "however, as everybody tells me the same thing—
though I can't see it myself—I say I am willing to give myself the three
thousand three hundred lashes, provided I am to lay them on whenever I
like, without any fixing of days or times; and I'll try and get out of debt as
quickly as I can, that the world may enjoy the beauty of the lady Dulcinea
del Toboso; as it seems, contrary to what I thought, that she is beautiful after
all. It must be a condition, too, that I am not to be bound to draw blood with
the scourge, and that if any of the lashes happen to be fly-flappers they are to
count. Item, that, in case I should make any mistake in the reckoning, Senor

Merlin, as he knows everything, is to keep count, and let me know how
many are still wanting or over the number."
"There will be no need to let you know of any over," said Merlin,
"because, when you reach the full number, the lady Dulcinea will at once,
and that very instant, be disenchanted, and will come in her gratitude to seek
out the worthy Sancho, and thank him, and even reward him for the good
work. So you have no cause to be uneasy about stripes too many or too few;
heaven forbid I should cheat anyone of even a hair of his head."
"Well then, in God's hands be it," said Sancho; "in the hard case I'm in I
give in; I say I accept the penance on the conditions laid down."
The instant Sancho uttered these last words the music of the clarions
struck up once more, and again a host of muskets were discharged, and Don
Quixote hung on Sancho's neck kissing him again and again on the forehead
and cheeks. The duchess and the duke expressed the greatest satisfaction, the
car began to move on, and as it passed the fair Dulcinea bowed to the duke
and duchess and made a low curtsey to Sancho.

And now bright smiling dawn came on apace; the flowers of the field,
revived, raised up their heads, and the crystal waters of the brooks,
murmuring over the grey and white pebbles, hastened to pay their tribute to
the expectant rivers; the glad earth, the unclouded sky, the fresh breeze, the
clear light, each and all showed that the day that came treading on the skirts
of morning would be calm and bright. The duke and duchess, pleased with
their hunt and at having carried out their plans so cleverly and successfully,
returned to their castle resolved to follow up their joke; for to them there was
no reality that could afford them more amusement.

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