Kabanata Kabanata 81 · CHAPTER XXIX. OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARK

. CHAPTER XXIX. OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARK

CHAPTER XXIX.

OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARK

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By stages as already described or left undescribed, two days after

quitting the grove Don Quixote and Sancho reached the river Ebro, and

the sight of it was a great delight to Don Quixote as he contemplated

and gazed upon the charms of its banks, the clearness of its stream,

the gentleness of its current and the abundance of its crystal waters;

and the pleasant view revived a thousand tender thoughts in his mind.

Above all, he dwelt upon what he had seen in the cave of Montesinos;

for though Master Pedro’s ape had told him that of those things part

was true, part false, he clung more to their truth than to their

falsehood, the very reverse of Sancho, who held them all to be

downright lies.

As they were thus proceeding, then, they discovered a small boat,

without oars or any other gear, that lay at the water’s edge tied to

the stem of a tree growing on the bank. Don Quixote looked all round,

and seeing nobody, at once, without more ado, dismounted from Rocinante

and bade Sancho get down from Dapple and tie both beasts securely to

the trunk of a poplar or willow that stood there. Sancho asked him the

reason of this sudden dismounting and tying. Don Quixote made answer,

“Thou must know, Sancho, that this bark is plainly, and without the

possibility of any alternative, calling and inviting me to enter it,

and in it go to give aid to some knight or other person of distinction

in need of it, who is no doubt in some sore strait; for this is the way

of the books of chivalry and of the enchanters who figure and speak in

them. When a knight is involved in some difficulty from which he cannot

be delivered save by the hand of another knight, though they may be at

a distance of two or three thousand leagues or more one from the other,

they either take him up on a cloud, or they provide a bark for him to

get into, and in less than the twinkling of an eye they carry him where

they will and where his help is required; and so, Sancho, this bark is

placed here for the same purpose; this is as true as that it is now

day, and ere this one passes tie Dapple and Rocinante together, and

then in God’s hand be it to guide us; for I would not hold back from

embarking, though barefooted friars were to beg me.”

“As that’s the case,” said Sancho, “and your worship chooses to give in

to these—I don’t know if I may call them absurdities—at every turn,

there’s nothing for it but to obey and bow the head, bearing in mind

the proverb, ‘Do as thy master bids thee, and sit down to table with

him;’ but for all that, for the sake of easing my conscience, I warn

your worship that it is my opinion this bark is no enchanted one, but

belongs to some of the fishermen of the river, for they catch the best

shad in the world here.”

As Sancho said this, he tied the beasts, leaving them to the care and

protection of the enchanters with sorrow enough in his heart. Don

Quixote bade him not be uneasy about deserting the animals, “for he who

would carry themselves over such longinquous roads and regions would

take care to feed them.”

“I don’t understand that logiquous,” said Sancho, “nor have I ever

heard the word all the days of my life.”

“Longinquous,” replied Don Quixote, “means far off; but it is no wonder

thou dost not understand it, for thou art not bound to know Latin, like

some who pretend to know it and don’t.”

“Now they are tied,” said Sancho; “what are we to do next?”

“What?” said Don Quixote, “cross ourselves and weigh anchor; I mean,

embark and cut the moorings by which the bark is held;” and the bark

began to drift away slowly from the bank. But when Sancho saw himself

somewhere about two yards out in the river, he began to tremble and

give himself up for lost; but nothing distressed him more than hearing

Dapple bray and seeing Rocinante struggling to get loose, and said he

to his master, “Dapple is braying in grief at our leaving him, and

Rocinante is trying to escape and plunge in after us. O dear friends,

peace be with you, and may this madness that is taking us away from

you, turned into sober sense, bring us back to you.” And with this he

fell weeping so bitterly, that Don Quixote said to him, sharply and

angrily, “What art thou afraid of, cowardly creature? What art thou

weeping at, heart of butter-paste? Who pursues or molests thee, thou

soul of a tame mouse? What dost thou want, unsatisfied in the very

heart of abundance? Art thou, perchance, tramping barefoot over the

Riphaean mountains, instead of being seated on a bench like an archduke

on the tranquil stream of this pleasant river, from which in a short

space we shall come out upon the broad sea? But we must have already

emerged and gone seven hundred or eight hundred leagues; and if I had

here an astrolabe to take the altitude of the pole, I could tell thee

how many we have travelled, though either I know little, or we have

already crossed or shall shortly cross the equinoctial line which parts

the two opposite poles midway.”

“And when we come to that line your worship speaks of,” said Sancho,

“how far shall we have gone?”

“Very far,” said Don Quixote, “for of the three hundred and sixty

degrees that this terraqueous globe contains, as computed by Ptolemy,

the greatest cosmographer known, we shall have travelled one-half when

we come to the line I spoke of.”

“By God,” said Sancho, “your worship gives me a nice authority for what

you say, putrid Dolly something transmogrified, or whatever it is.”

Don Quixote laughed at the interpretation Sancho put upon “computed,”

and the name of the cosmographer Ptolemy, and said he, “Thou must know,

Sancho, that with the Spaniards and those who embark at Cadiz for the

East Indies, one of the signs they have to show them when they have

passed the equinoctial line I told thee of, is, that the lice die upon

everybody on board the ship, and not a single one is left, or to be

found in the whole vessel if they gave its weight in gold for it; so,

Sancho, thou mayest as well pass thy hand down thy thigh, and if thou

comest upon anything alive we shall be no longer in doubt; if not, then

we have crossed.”

“I don’t believe a bit of it,” said Sancho; “still, I’ll do as your

worship bids me; though I don’t know what need there is for trying

these experiments, for I can see with my own eyes that we have not

moved five yards away from the bank, or shifted two yards from where

the animals stand, for there are Rocinante and Dapple in the very same

place where we left them; and watching a point, as I do now, I swear by

all that’s good, we are not stirring or moving at the pace of an ant.”

“Try the test I told thee of, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and don’t

mind any other, for thou knowest nothing about colures, lines,

parallels, zodiacs, ecliptics, poles, solstices, equinoxes, planets,

signs, bearings, the measures of which the celestial and terrestrial

spheres are composed; if thou wert acquainted with all these things, or

any portion of them, thou wouldst see clearly how many parallels we

have cut, what signs we have seen, and what constellations we have left

behind and are now leaving behind. But again I tell thee, feel and

hunt, for I am certain thou art cleaner than a sheet of smooth white

paper.”

Sancho felt, and passing his hand gently and carefully down to the

hollow of his left knee, he looked up at his master and said, “Either

the test is a false one, or we have not come to where your worship

says, nor within many leagues of it.”

“Why, how so?” asked Don Quixote; “hast thou come upon aught?”

“Ay, and aughts,” replied Sancho; and shaking his fingers he washed his

whole hand in the river along which the boat was quietly gliding in

midstream, not moved by any occult intelligence or invisible enchanter,

but simply by the current, just there smooth and gentle.

They now came in sight of some large water mills that stood in the

middle of the river, and the instant Don Quixote saw them he cried out,

“Seest thou there, my friend? there stands the castle or fortress,

where there is, no doubt, some knight in durance, or ill-used queen, or

infanta, or princess, in whose aid I am brought hither.”

“What the devil city, fortress, or castle is your worship talking

about, señor?” said Sancho; “don’t you see that those are mills that

stand in the river to grind corn?”

“Hold thy peace, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “though they look like

mills they are not so; I have already told thee that enchantments

transform things and change their proper shapes; I do not mean to say

they really change them from one form into another, but that it seems

as though they did, as experience proved in the transformation of

Dulcinea, sole refuge of my hopes.”

By this time, the boat, having reached the middle of the stream, began

to move less slowly than hitherto. The millers belonging to the mills,

when they saw the boat coming down the river, and on the point of being

sucked in by the draught of the wheels, ran out in haste, several of

them, with long poles to stop it, and being all mealy, with faces and

garments covered with flour, they presented a sinister appearance. They

raised loud shouts, crying, “Devils of men, where are you going to? Are

you mad? Do you want to drown yourselves, or dash yourselves to pieces

among these wheels?”

“Did I not tell thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote at this, “that we had

reached the place where I am to show what the might of my arm can do?

See what ruffians and villains come out against me; see what monsters

oppose me; see what hideous countenances come to frighten us! You shall

soon see, scoundrels!” And then standing up in the boat he began in a

loud voice to hurl threats at the millers, exclaiming, “Ill-conditioned

and worse-counselled rabble, restore to liberty and freedom the person

ye hold in durance in this your fortress or prison, high or low or of

whatever rank or quality he be, for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha,

otherwise called the Knight of the Lions, for whom, by the disposition

of heaven above, it is reserved to give a happy issue to this

adventure;” and so saying he drew his sword and began making passes in

the air at the millers, who, hearing but not understanding all this

nonsense, strove to stop the boat, which was now getting into the

rushing channel of the wheels. Sancho fell upon his knees devoutly

appealing to heaven to deliver him from such imminent peril; which it

did by the activity and quickness of the millers, who, pushing against

the boat with their poles, stopped it, not, however, without upsetting

and throwing Don Quixote and Sancho into the water; and lucky it was

for Don Quixote that he could swim like a goose, though the weight of

his armour carried him twice to the bottom; and had it not been for the

millers, who plunged in and hoisted them both out, it would have been

Troy town with the pair of them. As soon as, more drenched than

thirsty, they were landed, Sancho went down on his knees and with

clasped hands and eyes raised to heaven, prayed a long and fervent

prayer to God to deliver him evermore from the rash projects and

attempts of his master. The fishermen, the owners of the boat, which

the mill-wheels had knocked to pieces, now came up, and seeing it

smashed they proceeded to strip Sancho and to demand payment for it

from Don Quixote; but he with great calmness, just as if nothing had

happened him, told the millers and fishermen that he would pay for the

bark most cheerfully, on condition that they delivered up to him, free

and unhurt, the person or persons that were in durance in that castle

of theirs.

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“What persons or what castle art thou talking of, madman? Art thou for

carrying off the people who come to grind corn in these mills?”

“That’s enough,” said Don Quixote to himself, “it would be preaching in

the desert to attempt by entreaties to induce this rabble to do any

virtuous action. In this adventure two mighty enchanters must have

encountered one another, and one frustrates what the other attempts;

one provided the bark for me, and the other upset me; God help us, this

world is all machinations and schemes at cross purposes one with the

other. I can do no more.” And then turning towards the mills he said

aloud, “Friends, whoe’er ye be that are immured in that prison, forgive

me that, to my misfortune and yours, I cannot deliver you from your

misery; this adventure is doubtless reserved and destined for some

other knight.”

So saying he settled with the fishermen, and paid fifty reals for the

boat, which Sancho handed to them very much against the grain, saying,

“With a couple more bark businesses like this we shall have sunk our

whole capital.”

The fishermen and the millers stood staring in amazement at the two

figures, so very different to all appearance from ordinary men, and

were wholly unable to make out the drift of the observations and

questions Don Quixote addressed to them; and coming to the conclusion

that they were madmen, they left them and betook themselves, the

millers to their mills, and the fishermen to their huts. Don Quixote

and Sancho returned to their beasts, and to their life of beasts, and

so ended the adventure of the enchanted bark.

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