บทที่ บทที่ 115 · CHAPTER LXIII. OF THE MISHAP THAT BEFELL SANCHO PANZA THROUGH THE VISIT TO THE

. CHAPTER LXIII. OF THE MISHAP THAT BEFELL SANCHO PANZA THROUGH THE VISIT TO THE

CHAPTER LXIII.

OF THE MISHAP THAT BEFELL SANCHO PANZA THROUGH THE VISIT TO THE

GALLEYS, AND THE STRANGE ADVENTURE OF THE FAIR MORISCO

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Profound were Don Quixote’s reflections on the reply of the enchanted

head, not one of them, however, hitting on the secret of the trick, but

all concentrated on the promise, which he regarded as a certainty, of

Dulcinea’s disenchantment. This he turned over in his mind again and

again with great satisfaction, fully persuaded that he would shortly

see its fulfillment; and as for Sancho, though, as has been said, he

hated being a governor, still he had a longing to be giving orders and

finding himself obeyed once more; this is the misfortune that being in

authority, even in jest, brings with it.

To resume; that afternoon their host Don Antonio Moreno and his two

friends, with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to the galleys. The

commandant had been already made aware of his good fortune in seeing

two such famous persons as Don Quixote and Sancho, and the instant they

came to the shore all the galleys struck their awnings and the clarions

rang out. A skiff covered with rich carpets and cushions of crimson

velvet was immediately lowered into the water, and as Don Quixote

stepped on board of it, the leading galley fired her gangway gun, and

the other galleys did the same; and as he mounted the starboard ladder

the whole crew saluted him (as is the custom when a personage of

distinction comes on board a galley) by exclaiming “Hu, hu, hu,” three

times. The general, for so we shall call him, a Valencian gentleman of

rank, gave him his hand and embraced him, saying, “I shall mark this

day with a white stone as one of the happiest I can expect to enjoy in

my lifetime, since I have seen Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, pattern

and image wherein we see contained and condensed all that is worthy in

knight-errantry.”

Don Quixote delighted beyond measure with such a lordly reception,

replied to him in words no less courteous. All then proceeded to the

poop, which was very handsomely decorated, and seated themselves on the

bulwark benches; the boatswain passed along the gangway and piped all

hands to strip, which they did in an instant. Sancho, seeing such a

number of men stripped to the skin, was taken aback, and still more

when he saw them spread the awning so briskly that it seemed to him as

if all the devils were at work at it; but all this was cakes and fancy

bread to what I am going to tell now. Sancho was seated on the

captain’s stage, close to the aftermost rower on the right-hand side.

He, previously instructed in what he was to do, laid hold of Sancho,

hoisting him up in his arms, and the whole crew, who were standing

ready, beginning on the right, proceeded to pass him on, whirling him

along from hand to hand and from bench to bench with such rapidity that

it took the sight out of poor Sancho’s eyes, and he made quite sure

that the devils themselves were flying away with him; nor did they

leave off with him until they had sent him back along the left side and

deposited him on the poop; and the poor fellow was left bruised and

breathless and all in a sweat, and unable to comprehend what it was

that had happened to him.

Don Quixote when he saw Sancho’s flight without wings asked the general

if this was a usual ceremony with those who came on board the galleys

for the first time; for, if so, as he had no intention of adopting them

as a profession, he had no mind to perform such feats of agility, and

if anyone offered to lay hold of him to whirl him about, he vowed to

God he would kick his soul out; and as he said this he stood up and

clapped his hand upon his sword. At this instant they struck the awning

and lowered the yard with a prodigious rattle. Sancho thought heaven

was coming off its hinges and going to fall on his head, and full of

terror he ducked it and buried it between his knees; nor were Don

Quixote’s knees altogether under control, for he too shook a little,

squeezed his shoulders together and lost colour. The crew then hoisted

the yard with the same rapidity and clatter as when they lowered it,

all the while keeping silence as though they had neither voice nor

breath. The boatswain gave the signal to weigh anchor, and leaping upon

the middle of the gangway began to lay on to the shoulders of the crew

with his courbash or whip, and to haul out gradually to sea.

When Sancho saw so many red feet (for such he took the oars to be)

moving all together, he said to himself, “It’s these that are the real

chanted things, and not the ones my master talks of. What can those

wretches have done to be so whipped; and how does that one man who goes

along there whistling dare to whip so many? I declare this is hell, or

at least purgatory!”

Don Quixote, observing how attentively Sancho regarded what was going

on, said to him, “Ah, Sancho my friend, how quickly and cheaply might

you finish off the disenchantment of Dulcinea, if you would strip to

the waist and take your place among those gentlemen! Amid the pain and

sufferings of so many you would not feel your own much; and moreover

perhaps the sage Merlin would allow each of these lashes, being laid on

with a good hand, to count for ten of those which you must give

yourself at last.”

The general was about to ask what these lashes were, and what was

Dulcinea’s disenchantment, when a sailor exclaimed, “Monjui signals

that there is an oared vessel off the coast to the west.”

On hearing this the general sprang upon the gangway crying, “Now then,

my sons, don’t let her give us the slip! It must be some Algerine

corsair brigantine that the watchtower signals to us.” The three others

immediately came alongside the chief galley to receive their orders.

The general ordered two to put out to sea while he with the other kept

in shore, so that in this way the vessel could not escape them. The

crews plied the oars driving the galleys so furiously that they seemed

to fly. The two that had put out to sea, after a couple of miles

sighted a vessel which, so far as they could make out, they judged to

be one of fourteen or fifteen banks, and so she proved. As soon as the

vessel discovered the galleys she went about with the object and in the

hope of making her escape by her speed; but the attempt failed, for the

chief galley was one of the fastest vessels afloat, and overhauled her

so rapidly that they on board the brigantine saw clearly there was no

possibility of escaping, and the rais therefore would have had them

drop their oars and give themselves up so as not to provoke the captain

in command of our galleys to anger. But chance, directing things

otherwise, so ordered it that just as the chief galley came close

enough for those on board the vessel to hear the shouts from her

calling on them to surrender, two Toraquis, that is to say two Turks,

both drunken, that with a dozen more were on board the brigantine,

discharged their muskets, killing two of the soldiers that lined the

sides of our vessel. Seeing this the general swore he would not leave

one of those he found on board the vessel alive, but as he bore down

furiously upon her she slipped away from him underneath the oars. The

galley shot a good way ahead; those on board the vessel saw their case

was desperate, and while the galley was coming about they made sail,

and by sailing and rowing once more tried to sheer off; but their

activity did not do them as much good as their rashness did them harm,

for the galley coming up with them in a little more than half a mile

threw her oars over them and took the whole of them alive. The other

two galleys now joined company and all four returned with the prize to

the beach, where a vast multitude stood waiting for them, eager to see

what they brought back. The general anchored close in, and perceived

that the viceroy of the city was on the shore. He ordered the skiff to

push off to fetch him, and the yard to be lowered for the purpose of

hanging forthwith the rais and the rest of the men taken on board the

vessel, about six-and-thirty in number, all smart fellows and most of

them Turkish musketeers. He asked which was the rais of the brigantine,

and was answered in Spanish by one of the prisoners (who afterwards

proved to be a Spanish renegade), “This young man, señor, that you see

here is our rais,” and he pointed to one of the handsomest and most

gallant-looking youths that could be imagined. He did not seem to be

twenty years of age.

“Tell me, dog,” said the general, “what led thee to kill my soldiers,

when thou sawest it was impossible for thee to escape? Is that the way

to behave to chief galleys? Knowest thou not that rashness is not

valour? Faint prospects of success should make men bold, but not rash.”

The rais was about to reply, but the general could not at that moment

listen to him, as he had to hasten to receive the viceroy, who was now

coming on board the galley, and with him certain of his attendants and

some of the people.

“You have had a good chase, señor general,” said the viceroy.

“Your excellency shall soon see how good, by the game strung up to this

yard,” replied the general.

“How so?” returned the viceroy.

“Because,” said the general, “against all law, reason, and usages of

war they have killed on my hands two of the best soldiers on board

these galleys, and I have sworn to hang every man that I have taken,

but above all this youth who is the rais of the brigantine,” and he

pointed to him as he stood with his hands already bound and the rope

round his neck, ready for death.

The viceroy looked at him, and seeing him so well-favoured, so

graceful, and so submissive, he felt a desire to spare his life, the

comeliness of the youth furnishing him at once with a letter of

recommendation. He therefore questioned him, saying, “Tell me, rais,

art thou Turk, Moor, or renegade?”

To which the youth replied, also in Spanish, “I am neither Turk, nor

Moor, nor renegade.”

“What art thou, then?” said the viceroy.

“A Christian woman,” replied the youth.

“A woman and a Christian, in such a dress and in such circumstances! It

is more marvellous than credible,” said the viceroy.

“Suspend the execution of the sentence,” said the youth; “your

vengeance will not lose much by waiting while I tell you the story of

my life.”

What heart could be so hard as not to be softened by these words, at

any rate so far as to listen to what the unhappy youth had to say? The

general bade him say what he pleased, but not to expect pardon for his

flagrant offence. With this permission the youth began in these words.

“Born of Morisco parents, I am of that nation, more unhappy than wise,

upon which of late a sea of woes has poured down. In the course of our

misfortune I was carried to Barbary by two uncles of mine, for it was

in vain that I declared I was a Christian, as in fact I am, and not a

mere pretended one, or outwardly, but a true Catholic Christian. It

availed me nothing with those charged with our sad expatriation to

protest this, nor would my uncles believe it; on the contrary, they

treated it as an untruth and a subterfuge set up to enable me to remain

behind in the land of my birth; and so, more by force than of my own

will, they took me with them. I had a Christian mother, and a father

who was a man of sound sense and a Christian too; I imbibed the

Catholic faith with my mother’s milk, I was well brought up, and

neither in word nor in deed did I, I think, show any sign of being a

Morisco. To accompany these virtues, for such I hold them, my beauty,

if I possess any, grew with my growth; and great as was the seclusion

in which I lived it was not so great but that a young gentleman, Don

Gaspar Gregorio by name, eldest son of a gentleman who is lord of a

village near ours, contrived to find opportunities of seeing me. How he

saw me, how we met, how his heart was lost to me, and mine not kept

from him, would take too long to tell, especially at a moment when I am

in dread of the cruel cord that threatens me interposing between tongue

and throat; I will only say, therefore, that Don Gregorio chose to

accompany me in our banishment. He joined company with the Moriscoes

who were going forth from other villages, for he knew their language

very well, and on the voyage he struck up a friendship with my two

uncles who were carrying me with them; for my father, like a wise and

far-sighted man, as soon as he heard the first edict for our expulsion,

quitted the village and departed in quest of some refuge for us abroad.

He left hidden and buried, at a spot of which I alone have knowledge, a

large quantity of pearls and precious stones of great value, together

with a sum of money in gold cruzadoes and doubloons. He charged me on

no account to touch the treasure, if by any chance they expelled us

before his return. I obeyed him, and with my uncles, as I have said,

and others of our kindred and neighbours, passed over to Barbary, and

the place where we took up our abode was Algiers, much the same as if

we had taken it up in hell itself. The king heard of my beauty, and

report told him of my wealth, which was in some degree fortunate for

me. He summoned me before him, and asked me what part of Spain I came

from, and what money and jewels I had. I mentioned the place, and told

him the jewels and money were buried there; but that they might easily

be recovered if I myself went back for them. All this I told him, in

dread lest my beauty and not his own covetousness should influence him.

While he was engaged in conversation with me, they brought him word

that in company with me was one of the handsomest and most graceful

youths that could be imagined. I knew at once that they were speaking

of Don Gaspar Gregorio, whose comeliness surpasses the most highly

vaunted beauty. I was troubled when I thought of the danger he was in,

for among those barbarous Turks a fair youth is more esteemed than a

woman, be she ever so beautiful. The king immediately ordered him to be

brought before him that he might see him, and asked me if what they

said about the youth was true. I then, almost as if inspired by heaven,

told him it was, but that I would have him to know it was not a man,

but a woman like myself, and I entreated him to allow me to go and

dress her in the attire proper to her, so that her beauty might be seen

to perfection, and that she might present herself before him with less

embarrassment. He bade me go by all means, and said that the next day

we should discuss the plan to be adopted for my return to Spain to

carry away the hidden treasure. I saw Don Gaspar, I told him the danger

he was in if he let it be seen he was a man, I dressed him as a Moorish

woman, and that same afternoon I brought him before the king, who was

charmed when he saw him, and resolved to keep the damsel and make a

present of her to the Grand Signor; and to avoid the risk she might run

among the women of his seraglio, and distrustful of himself, he

commanded her to be placed in the house of some Moorish ladies of rank

who would protect and attend to her; and thither he was taken at once.

What we both suffered (for I cannot deny that I love him) may be left

to the imagination of those who are separated if they love one another

dearly. The king then arranged that I should return to Spain in this

brigantine, and that two Turks, those who killed your soldiers, should

accompany me. There also came with me this Spanish renegade”—and here

she pointed to him who had first spoken—“whom I know to be secretly a

Christian, and to be more desirous of being left in Spain than of

returning to Barbary. The rest of the crew of the brigantine are Moors

and Turks, who merely serve as rowers. The two Turks, greedy and

insolent, instead of obeying the orders we had to land me and this

renegade in Christian dress (with which we came provided) on the first

Spanish ground we came to, chose to run along the coast and make some

prize if they could, fearing that if they put us ashore first, we

might, in case of some accident befalling us, make it known that the

brigantine was at sea, and thus, if there happened to be any galleys on

the coast, they might be taken. We sighted this shore last night, and

knowing nothing of these galleys, we were discovered, and the result

was what you have seen. To sum up, there is Don Gregorio in woman’s

dress, among women, in imminent danger of his life; and here am I, with

hands bound, in expectation, or rather in dread, of losing my life, of

which I am already weary. Here, sirs, ends my sad story, as true as it

is unhappy; all I ask of you is to allow me to die like a Christian,

for, as I have already said, I am not to be charged with the offence of

which those of my nation are guilty;” and she stood silent, her eyes

filled with moving tears, accompanied by plenty from the bystanders.

The viceroy, touched with compassion, went up to her without speaking

and untied the cord that bound the hands of the Moorish girl.

But all the while the Morisco Christian was telling her strange story,

an elderly pilgrim, who had come on board of the galley at the same

time as the viceroy, kept his eyes fixed upon her; and the instant she

ceased speaking he threw himself at her feet, and embracing them said

in a voice broken by sobs and sighs, “O Ana Felix, my unhappy daughter,

I am thy father Ricote, come back to look for thee, unable to live

without thee, my soul that thou art!”

At these words of his, Sancho opened his eyes and raised his head,

which he had been holding down, brooding over his unlucky excursion;

and looking at the pilgrim he recognised in him that same Ricote he met

the day he quitted his government, and felt satisfied that this was his

daughter. She being now unbound embraced her father, mingling her tears

with his, while he addressing the general and the viceroy said, “This,

sirs, is my daughter, more unhappy in her adventures than in her name.

She is Ana Felix, surnamed Ricote, celebrated as much for her own

beauty as for my wealth. I quitted my native land in search of some

shelter or refuge for us abroad, and having found one in Germany I

returned in this pilgrim’s dress, in the company of some other German

pilgrims, to seek my daughter and take up a large quantity of treasure

I had left buried. My daughter I did not find, the treasure I found and

have with me; and now, in this strange roundabout way you have seen, I

find the treasure that more than all makes me rich, my beloved

daughter. If our innocence and her tears and mine can with strict

justice open the door to clemency, extend it to us, for we never had

any intention of injuring you, nor do we sympathise with the aims of

our people, who have been justly banished.”

“I know Ricote well,” said Sancho at this, “and I know too that what he

says about Ana Felix being his daughter is true; but as to those other

particulars about going and coming, and having good or bad intentions,

I say nothing.”

While all present stood amazed at this strange occurrence the general

said, “At any rate your tears will not allow me to keep my oath; live,

fair Ana Felix, all the years that heaven has allotted you; but these

rash insolent fellows must pay the penalty of the crime they have

committed;” and with that he gave orders to have the two Turks who had

killed his two soldiers hanged at once at the yard-arm. The viceroy,

however, begged him earnestly not to hang them, as their behaviour

savoured rather of madness than of bravado. The general yielded to the

viceroy’s request, for revenge is not easily taken in cold blood. They

then tried to devise some scheme for rescuing Don Gaspar Gregorio from

the danger in which he had been left. Ricote offered for that object

more than two thousand ducats that he had in pearls and gems; they

proposed several plans, but none so good as that suggested by the

renegade already mentioned, who offered to return to Algiers in a small

vessel of about six banks, manned by Christian rowers, as he knew

where, how, and when he could and should land, nor was he ignorant of

the house in which Don Gaspar was staying. The general and the viceroy

had some hesitation about placing confidence in the renegade and

entrusting him with the Christians who were to row, but Ana Felix said

she could answer for him, and her father offered to go and pay the

ransom of the Christians if by any chance they should not be

forthcoming. This, then, being agreed upon, the viceroy landed, and Don

Antonio Moreno took the fair Morisco and her father home with him, the

viceroy charging him to give them the best reception and welcome in his

power, while on his own part he offered all that house contained for

their entertainment; so great was the good-will and kindliness the

beauty of Ana Felix had infused into his heart.

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