第 一百一十 章 · CHAPTER LVIII. WHICH TELLS HOW ADVENTURES CAME CROWDING ON DON QUIXOTE IN SUCH NUMBERS
. CHAPTER LVIII. WHICH TELLS HOW ADVENTURES CAME CROWDING ON DON QUIXOTE IN SUCH NUMBERS
CHAPTER LVIII.
WHICH TELLS HOW ADVENTURES CAME CROWDING ON DON QUIXOTE IN SUCH NUMBERS
THAT THEY GAVE ONE ANOTHER NO BREATHING-TIME
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When Don Quixote saw himself in open country, free, and relieved from
the attentions of Altisidora, he felt at his ease, and in fresh spirits
to take up the pursuit of chivalry once more; and turning to Sancho, he
said, “Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts that heaven
has bestowed upon men; no treasures that the earth holds buried or the
sea conceals can compare with it; for freedom, as for honour, life may
and should be ventured; and on the other hand, captivity is the
greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man. I say this, Sancho,
because thou hast seen the good cheer, the abundance we have enjoyed in
this castle we are leaving; well then, amid those dainty banquets and
snow-cooled beverages I felt as though I were undergoing the straits of
hunger, because I did not enjoy them with the same freedom as if they
had been mine own; for the sense of being under an obligation to return
benefits and favours received is a restraint that checks the
independence of the spirit. Happy he, to whom heaven has given a piece
of bread for which he is not bound to give thanks to any but heaven
itself!”
“For all your worship says,” said Sancho, “it is not becoming that
there should be no thanks on our part for two hundred gold crowns that
the duke’s majordomo has given me in a little purse which I carry next
my heart, like a warming plaster or comforter, to meet any chance
calls; for we shan’t always find castles where they’ll entertain us;
now and then we may light upon roadside inns where they’ll cudgel us.”
In conversation of this sort the knight and squire errant were pursuing
their journey, when, after they had gone a little more than half a
league, they perceived some dozen men dressed like labourers stretched
upon their cloaks on the grass of a green meadow eating their dinner.
They had beside them what seemed to be white sheets concealing some
objects under them, standing upright or lying flat, and arranged at
intervals. Don Quixote approached the diners, and, saluting them
courteously first, he asked them what it was those cloths covered.
“Señor,” answered one of the party, “under these cloths are some images
carved in relief intended for a retablo we are putting up in our
village; we carry them covered up that they may not be soiled, and on
our shoulders that they may not be broken.”
“With your good leave,” said Don Quixote, “I should like to see them;
for images that are carried so carefully no doubt must be fine ones.”
“I should think they were!” said the other; “let the money they cost
speak for that; for as a matter of fact there is not one of them that
does not stand us in more than fifty ducats; and that your worship may
judge; wait a moment, and you shall see with your own eyes;” and
getting up from his dinner he went and uncovered the first image, which
proved to be one of Saint George on horseback with a serpent writhing
at his feet and the lance thrust down its throat with all that
fierceness that is usually depicted. The whole group was one blaze of
gold, as the saying is. On seeing it Don Quixote said, “That knight was
one of the best knights-errant the army of heaven ever owned; he was
called Don Saint George, and he was moreover a defender of maidens. Let
us see this next one.”
The man uncovered it, and it was seen to be that of Saint Martin on his
horse, dividing his cloak with the beggar. The instant Don Quixote saw
it he said, “This knight too was one of the Christian adventurers, but
I believe he was generous rather than valiant, as thou mayest perceive,
Sancho, by his dividing his cloak with the beggar and giving him half
of it; no doubt it was winter at the time, for otherwise he would have
given him the whole of it, so charitable was he.”
“It was not that, most likely,” said Sancho, “but that he held with the
proverb that says, ‘For giving and keeping there’s need of brains.’”
Don Quixote laughed, and asked them to take off the next cloth,
underneath which was seen the image of the patron saint of the Spains
seated on horseback, his sword stained with blood, trampling on Moors
and treading heads underfoot; and on seeing it Don Quixote exclaimed,
“Ay, this is a knight, and of the squadrons of Christ! This one is
called Don Saint James the Moorslayer, one of the bravest saints and
knights the world ever had or heaven has now.”
They then raised another cloth which it appeared covered Saint Paul
falling from his horse, with all the details that are usually given in
representations of his conversion. When Don Quixote saw it, rendered in
such lifelike style that one would have said Christ was speaking and
Paul answering, “This,” he said, “was in his time the greatest enemy
that the Church of God our Lord had, and the greatest champion it will
ever have; a knight-errant in life, a steadfast saint in death, an
untiring labourer in the Lord’s vineyard, a teacher of the Gentiles,
whose school was heaven, and whose instructor and master was Jesus
Christ himself.”
There were no more images, so Don Quixote bade them cover them up
again, and said to those who had brought them, “I take it as a happy
omen, brothers, to have seen what I have; for these saints and knights
were of the same profession as myself, which is the calling of arms;
only there is this difference between them and me, that they were
saints, and fought with divine weapons, and I am a sinner and fight
with human ones. They won heaven by force of arms, for heaven suffereth
violence; and I, so far, know not what I have won by dint of my
sufferings; but if my Dulcinea del Toboso were to be released from
hers, perhaps with mended fortunes and a mind restored to itself I
might direct my steps in a better path than I am following at present.”
“May God hear and sin be deaf,” said Sancho to this.
The men were filled with wonder, as well at the figure as at the words
of Don Quixote, though they did not understand one half of what he
meant by them. They finished their dinner, took their images on their
backs, and bidding farewell to Don Quixote resumed their journey.
Sancho was amazed afresh at the extent of his master’s knowledge, as
much as if he had never known him, for it seemed to him that there was
no story or event in the world that he had not at his fingers’ ends and
fixed in his memory, and he said to him, “In truth, master mine, if
this that has happened to us to-day is to be called an adventure, it
has been one of the sweetest and pleasantest that have befallen us in
the whole course of our travels; we have come out of it unbelaboured
and undismayed, neither have we drawn sword nor have we smitten the
earth with our bodies, nor have we been left famishing; blessed be God
that he has let me see such a thing with my own eyes!”
“Thou sayest well, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “but remember all times
are not alike nor do they always run the same way; and these things the
vulgar commonly call omens, which are not based upon any natural
reason, will by him who is wise be esteemed and reckoned happy
accidents merely. One of these believers in omens will get up of a
morning, leave his house, and meet a friar of the order of the blessed
Saint Francis, and, as if he had met a griffin, he will turn about and
go home. With another Mendoza the salt is spilt on his table, and gloom
is spilt over his heart, as if nature was obliged to give warning of
coming misfortunes by means of such trivial things as these. The wise
man and the Christian should not trifle with what it may please heaven
to do. Scipio on coming to Africa stumbled as he leaped on shore; his
soldiers took it as a bad omen; but he, clasping the soil with his
arms, exclaimed, ‘Thou canst not escape me, Africa, for I hold thee
tight between my arms.’ Thus, Sancho, meeting those images has been to
me a most happy occurrence.”
“I can well believe it,” said Sancho; “but I wish your worship would
tell me what is the reason that the Spaniards, when they are about to
give battle, in calling on that Saint James the Moorslayer, say
‘Santiago and close Spain!’ Is Spain, then, open, so that it is needful
to close it; or what is the meaning of this form?”
“Thou art very simple, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “God, look you, gave
that great knight of the Red Cross to Spain as her patron saint and
protector, especially in those hard struggles the Spaniards had with
the Moors; and therefore they invoke and call upon him as their
defender in all their battles; and in these he has been many a time
seen beating down, trampling under foot, destroying and slaughtering
the Hagarene squadrons in the sight of all; of which fact I could give
thee many examples recorded in truthful Spanish histories.”
Sancho changed the subject, and said to his master, “I marvel, señor,
at the boldness of Altisidora, the duchess’s handmaid; he whom they
call Love must have cruelly pierced and wounded her; they say he is a
little blind urchin who, though blear-eyed, or more properly speaking
sightless, if he aims at a heart, be it ever so small, hits it and
pierces it through and through with his arrows. I have heard it said
too that the arrows of Love are blunted and robbed of their points by
maidenly modesty and reserve; but with this Altisidora it seems they
are sharpened rather than blunted.”
“Bear in mind, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that love is influenced by
no consideration, recognises no restraints of reason, and is of the
same nature as death, that assails alike the lofty palaces of kings and
the humble cabins of shepherds; and when it takes entire possession of
a heart, the first thing it does is to banish fear and shame from it;
and so without shame Altisidora declared her passion, which excited in
my mind embarrassment rather than commiseration.”
“Notable cruelty!” exclaimed Sancho; “unheard-of ingratitude! I can
only say for myself that the very smallest loving word of hers would
have subdued me and made a slave of me. The devil! What a heart of
marble, what bowels of brass, what a soul of mortar! But I can’t
imagine what it is that this damsel saw in your worship that could have
conquered and captivated her so. What gallant figure was it, what bold
bearing, what sprightly grace, what comeliness of feature, which of
these things by itself, or what all together, could have made her fall
in love with you? For indeed and in truth many a time I stop to look at
your worship from the sole of your foot to the topmost hair of your
head, and I see more to frighten one than to make one fall in love;
moreover I have heard say that beauty is the first and main thing that
excites love, and as your worship has none at all, I don’t know what
the poor creature fell in love with.”
“Recollect, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “there are two sorts of
beauty, one of the mind, the other of the body; that of the mind
displays and exhibits itself in intelligence, in modesty, in honourable
conduct, in generosity, in good breeding; and all these qualities are
possible and may exist in an ugly man; and when it is this sort of
beauty and not that of the body that is the attraction, love is apt to
spring up suddenly and violently. I, Sancho, perceive clearly enough
that I am not beautiful, but at the same time I know I am not hideous;
and it is enough for an honest man not to be a monster to be an object
of love, if only he possesses the endowments of mind I have mentioned.”
While engaged in this discourse they were making their way through a
wood that lay beyond the road, when suddenly, without expecting
anything of the kind, Don Quixote found himself caught in some nets of
green cord stretched from one tree to another; and unable to conceive
what it could be, he said to Sancho, “Sancho, it strikes me this affair
of these nets will prove one of the strangest adventures imaginable.
May I die if the enchanters that persecute me are not trying to
entangle me in them and delay my journey, by way of revenge for my
obduracy towards Altisidora. Well then let me tell them that if these
nets, instead of being green cord, were made of the hardest diamonds,
or stronger than that wherewith the jealous god of blacksmiths enmeshed
Venus and Mars, I would break them as easily as if they were made of
rushes or cotton threads.” But just as he was about to press forward
and break through all, suddenly from among some trees two shepherdesses
of surpassing beauty presented themselves to his sight—or at least
damsels dressed like shepherdesses, save that their jerkins and sayas
were of fine brocade; that is to say, the sayas were rich farthingales
of gold embroidered tabby. Their hair, that in its golden brightness
vied with the beams of the sun itself, fell loose upon their shoulders
and was crowned with garlands twined with green laurel and red
everlasting; and their years to all appearance were not under fifteen
nor above eighteen.
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Such was the spectacle that filled Sancho with amazement, fascinated
Don Quixote, made the sun halt in his course to behold them, and held
all four in a strange silence. One of the shepherdesses, at length, was
the first to speak and said to Don Quixote, “Hold, sir knight, and do
not break these nets; for they are not spread here to do you any harm,
but only for our amusement; and as I know you will ask why they have
been put up, and who we are, I will tell you in a few words. In a
village some two leagues from this, where there are many people of
quality and rich gentlefolk, it was agreed upon by a number of friends
and relations to come with their wives, sons and daughters, neighbours,
friends and kinsmen, and make holiday in this spot, which is one of the
pleasantest in the whole neighbourhood, setting up a new pastoral
Arcadia among ourselves, we maidens dressing ourselves as shepherdesses
and the youths as shepherds. We have prepared two eclogues, one by the
famous poet Garcilasso, the other by the most excellent Camoens, in its
own Portuguese tongue, but we have not as yet acted them. Yesterday was
the first day of our coming here; we have a few of what they say are
called field-tents pitched among the trees on the bank of an ample
brook that fertilises all these meadows; last night we spread these
nets in the trees here to snare the silly little birds that startled by
the noise we make may fly into them. If you please to be our guest,
señor, you will be welcomed heartily and courteously, for here just now
neither care nor sorrow shall enter.”
She held her peace and said no more, and Don Quixote made answer, “Of a
truth, fairest lady, Actaeon when he unexpectedly beheld Diana bathing
in the stream could not have been more fascinated and wonderstruck than
I at the sight of your beauty. I commend your mode of entertainment,
and thank you for the kindness of your invitation; and if I can serve
you, you may command me with full confidence of being obeyed, for my
profession is none other than to show myself grateful, and ready to
serve persons of all conditions, but especially persons of quality such
as your appearance indicates; and if, instead of taking up, as they
probably do, but a small space, these nets took up the whole surface of
the globe, I would seek out new worlds through which to pass, so as not
to break them; and that ye may give some degree of credence to this
exaggerated language of mine, know that it is no less than Don Quixote
of La Mancha that makes this declaration to you, if indeed it be that
such a name has reached your ears.”
“Ah! friend of my soul,” instantly exclaimed the other shepherdess,
“what great good fortune has befallen us! Seest thou this gentleman we
have before us? Well then let me tell thee he is the most valiant and
the most devoted and the most courteous gentleman in all the world,
unless a history of his achievements that has been printed and I have
read is telling lies and deceiving us. I will lay a wager that this
good fellow who is with him is one Sancho Panza his squire, whose
drolleries none can equal.”
“That’s true,” said Sancho; “I am that same droll and squire you speak
of, and this gentleman is my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, the same
that’s in the history and that they talk about.”
“Oh, my friend,” said the other, “let us entreat him to stay; for it
will give our fathers and brothers infinite pleasure; I too have heard
just what thou hast told me of the valour of the one and the drolleries
of the other; and what is more, of him they say that he is the most
constant and loyal lover that was ever heard of, and that his lady is
one Dulcinea del Toboso, to whom all over Spain the palm of beauty is
awarded.”
“And justly awarded,” said Don Quixote, “unless, indeed, your
unequalled beauty makes it a matter of doubt. But spare yourselves the
trouble, ladies, of pressing me to stay, for the urgent calls of my
profession do not allow me to take rest under any circumstances.”
At this instant there came up to the spot where the four stood a
brother of one of the two shepherdesses, like them in shepherd costume,
and as richly and gaily dressed as they were. They told him that their
companion was the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the other
Sancho his squire, of whom he knew already from having read their
history. The gay shepherd offered him his services and begged that he
would accompany him to their tents, and Don Quixote had to give way and
comply. And now the game was started, and the nets were filled with a
variety of birds that deceived by the colour fell into the danger they
were flying from. Upwards of thirty persons, all gaily attired as
shepherds and shepherdesses, assembled on the spot, and were at once
informed who Don Quixote and his squire were, whereat they were not a
little delighted, as they knew of him already through his history. They
repaired to the tents, where they found tables laid out, and choicely,
plentifully, and neatly furnished. They treated Don Quixote as a person
of distinction, giving him the place of honour, and all observed him,
and were full of astonishment at the spectacle. At last the cloth being
removed, Don Quixote with great composure lifted up his voice and said:
“One of the greatest sins that men are guilty of is—some will say
pride—but I say ingratitude, going by the common saying that hell is
full of ingrates. This sin, so far as it has lain in my power, I have
endeavoured to avoid ever since I have enjoyed the faculty of reason;
and if I am unable to requite good deeds that have been done me by
other deeds, I substitute the desire to do so; and if that be not
enough I make them known publicly; for he who declares and makes known
the good deeds done to him would repay them by others if it were in his
power, and for the most part those who receive are the inferiors of
those who give. Thus, God is superior to all because he is the supreme
giver, and the offerings of man fall short by an infinite distance of
being a full return for the gifts of God; but gratitude in some degree
makes up for this deficiency and shortcoming. I therefore, grateful for
the favour that has been extended to me here, and unable to make a
return in the same measure, restricted as I am by the narrow limits of
my power, offer what I can and what I have to offer in my own way; and
so I declare that for two full days I will maintain in the middle of
this highway leading to Saragossa, that these ladies disguised as
shepherdesses, who are here present, are the fairest and most courteous
maidens in the world, excepting only the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso,
sole mistress of my thoughts, be it said without offence to those who
hear me, ladies and gentlemen.”
On hearing this Sancho, who had been listening with great attention,
cried out in a loud voice, “Is it possible there is anyone in the world
who will dare to say and swear that this master of mine is a madman?
Say, gentlemen shepherds, is there a village priest, be he ever so wise
or learned, who could say what my master has said; or is there
knight-errant, whatever renown he may have as a man of valour, that
could offer what my master has offered now?”
Don Quixote turned upon Sancho, and with a countenance glowing with
anger said to him, “Is it possible, Sancho, there is anyone in the
whole world who will say thou art not a fool, with a lining to match,
and I know not what trimmings of impertinence and roguery? Who asked
thee to meddle in my affairs, or to inquire whether I am a wise man or
a blockhead? Hold thy peace; answer me not a word; saddle Rocinante if
he be unsaddled; and let us go to put my offer into execution; for with
the right that I have on my side thou mayest reckon as vanquished all
who shall venture to question it;” and in a great rage, and showing his
anger plainly, he rose from his seat, leaving the company lost in
wonder, and making them feel doubtful whether they ought to regard him
as a madman or a rational being. In the end, though they sought to
dissuade him from involving himself in such a challenge, assuring him
they admitted his gratitude as fully established, and needed no fresh
proofs to be convinced of his valiant spirit, as those related in the
history of his exploits were sufficient, still Don Quixote persisted in
his resolve; and mounted on Rocinante, bracing his buckler on his arm
and grasping his lance, he posted himself in the middle of a high road
that was not far from the green meadow. Sancho followed on Dapple,
together with all the members of the pastoral gathering, eager to see
what would be the upshot of his vainglorious and extraordinary
proposal.
Don Quixote, then, having, as has been said, planted himself in the
middle of the road, made the welkin ring with words to this effect: “Ho
ye travellers and wayfarers, knights, squires, folk on foot or on
horseback, who pass this way or shall pass in the course of the next
two days! Know that Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant, is posted
here to maintain by arms that the beauty and courtesy enshrined in the
nymphs that dwell in these meadows and groves surpass all upon earth,
putting aside the lady of my heart, Dulcinea del Toboso. Wherefore, let
him who is of the opposite opinion come on, for here I await him.”
Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they fell unheard by any
adventurer; but fate, that was guiding affairs for him from better to
better, so ordered it that shortly afterwards there appeared on the
road a crowd of men on horseback, many of them with lances in their
hands, all riding in a compact body and in great haste. No sooner had
those who were with Don Quixote seen them than they turned about and
withdrew to some distance from the road, for they knew that if they
stayed some harm might come to them; but Don Quixote with intrepid
heart stood his ground, and Sancho Panza shielded himself with
Rocinante’s hind-quarters. The troop of lancers came up, and one of
them who was in advance began shouting to Don Quixote, “Get out of the
way, you son of the devil, or these bulls will knock you to pieces!”
“Rabble!” returned Don Quixote, “I care nothing for bulls, be they the
fiercest Jarama breeds on its banks. Confess at once, scoundrels, that
what I have declared is true; else ye have to deal with me in combat.”
The herdsman had no time to reply, nor Don Quixote to get out of the
way even if he wished; and so the drove of fierce bulls and tame
bullocks, together with the crowd of herdsmen and others who were
taking them to be penned up in a village where they were to be run the
next day, passed over Don Quixote and over Sancho, Rocinante and
Dapple, hurling them all to the earth and rolling them over on the
ground. Sancho was left crushed, Don Quixote scared, Dapple belaboured
and Rocinante in no very sound condition.
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They all got up, however, at length, and Don Quixote in great haste,
stumbling here and falling there, started off running after the drove,
shouting out, “Hold! stay! ye rascally rabble, a single knight awaits
you, and he is not of the temper or opinion of those who say, ‘For a
flying enemy make a bridge of silver.’” The retreating party in their
haste, however, did not stop for that, or heed his menaces any more
than last year’s clouds. Weariness brought Don Quixote to a halt, and
more enraged than avenged he sat down on the road to wait until Sancho,
Rocinante and Dapple came up. When they reached him master and man
mounted once more, and without going back to bid farewell to the mock
or imitation Arcadia, and more in humiliation than contentment, they
continued their journey.
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