第 六十六 章 · CHAPTER XIV. WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE
. CHAPTER XIV. WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE
CHAPTER XIV.
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE
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Among the things that passed between Don Quixote and the Knight of the
Wood, the history tells us he of the Grove said to Don Quixote, “In
fine, sir knight, I would have you know that my destiny, or, more
properly speaking, my choice led me to fall in love with the peerless
Casildea de Vandalia. I call her peerless because she has no peer,
whether it be in bodily stature or in the supremacy of rank and beauty.
This same Casildea, then, that I speak of, requited my honourable
passion and gentle aspirations by compelling me, as his stepmother did
Hercules, to engage in many perils of various sorts, at the end of each
promising me that, with the end of the next, the object of my hopes
should be attained; but my labours have gone on increasing link by link
until they are past counting, nor do I know what will be the last one
that is to be the beginning of the accomplishment of my chaste desires.
On one occasion she bade me go and challenge the famous giantess of
Seville, La Giralda by name, who is as mighty and strong as if made of
brass, and though never stirring from one spot, is the most restless
and changeable woman in the world. I came, I saw, I conquered, and I
made her stay quiet and behave herself, for nothing but north winds
blew for more than a week. Another time I was ordered to lift those
ancient stones, the mighty bulls of Guisando, an enterprise that might
more fitly be entrusted to porters than to knights. Again, she bade me
fling myself into the cavern of Cabra—an unparalleled and awful
peril—and bring her a minute account of all that is concealed in those
gloomy depths. I stopped the motion of the Giralda, I lifted the bulls
of Guisando, I flung myself into the cavern and brought to light the
secrets of its abyss; and my hopes are as dead as dead can be, and her
scorn and her commands as lively as ever. To be brief, last of all she
has commanded me to go through all the provinces of Spain and compel
all the knights-errant wandering therein to confess that she surpasses
all women alive to-day in beauty, and that I am the most valiant and
the most deeply enamoured knight on earth; in support of which claim I
have already travelled over the greater part of Spain, and have there
vanquished several knights who have dared to contradict me; but what I
most plume and pride myself upon is having vanquished in single combat
that so famous knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, and made him confess
that my Casildea is more beautiful than his Dulcinea; and in this one
victory I hold myself to have conquered all the knights in the world;
for this Don Quixote that I speak of has vanquished them all, and I
having vanquished him, his glory, his fame, and his honour have passed
and are transferred to my person; for
The more the vanquished hath of fair renown,
The greater glory gilds the victor’s crown.
Thus the innumerable achievements of the said Don Quixote are now set
down to my account and have become mine.”
Don Quixote was amazed when he heard the Knight of the Grove, and was a
thousand times on the point of telling him he lied, and had the lie
direct already on the tip of his tongue; but he restrained himself as
well as he could, in order to force him to confess the lie with his own
lips; so he said to him quietly, “As to what you say, sir knight, about
having vanquished most of the knights of Spain, or even of the whole
world, I say nothing; but that you have vanquished Don Quixote of La
Mancha I consider doubtful; it may have been some other that resembled
him, although there are few like him.”
“How! not vanquished?” said he of the Grove; “by the heaven that is
above us I fought Don Quixote and overcame him and made him yield; and
he is a man of tall stature, gaunt features, long, lank limbs, with
hair turning grey, an aquiline nose rather hooked, and large black
drooping moustaches; he does battle under the name of ‘The
Countenance,’ and he has for squire a peasant called Sancho Panza; he
presses the loins and rules the reins of a famous steed called
Rocinante; and lastly, he has for the mistress of his will a certain
Dulcinea del Toboso, once upon a time called Aldonza Lorenzo, just as I
call mine Casildea de Vandalia because her name is Casilda and she is
of Andalusia. If all these tokens are not enough to vindicate the truth
of what I say, here is my sword, that will compel incredulity itself to
give credence to it.”
“Calm yourself, sir knight,” said Don Quixote, “and give ear to what I
am about to say to you. I would have you know that this Don Quixote you
speak of is the greatest friend I have in the world; so much so that I
may say I regard him in the same light as my own person; and from the
precise and clear indications you have given I cannot but think that he
must be the very one you have vanquished. On the other hand, I see with
my eyes and feel with my hands that it is impossible it can have been
the same; unless indeed it be that, as he has many enemies who are
enchanters, and one in particular who is always persecuting him,
someone of these may have taken his shape in order to allow himself to
be vanquished, so as to defraud him of the fame that his exalted
achievements as a knight have earned and acquired for him throughout
the known world. And in confirmation of this, I must tell you, too,
that it is but ten hours since these said enchanters his enemies
transformed the shape and person of the fair Dulcinea del Toboso into a
foul and mean village lass, and in the same way they must have
transformed Don Quixote; and if all this does not suffice to convince
you of the truth of what I say, here is Don Quixote himself, who will
maintain it by arms, on foot or on horseback or in any way you please.”
And so saying he stood up and laid his hand on his sword, waiting to
see what the Knight of the Grove would do, who in an equally calm voice
said in reply, “Pledges don’t distress a good payer; he who has
succeeded in vanquishing you once when transformed, Sir Don Quixote,
may fairly hope to subdue you in your own proper shape; but as it is
not becoming for knights to perform their feats of arms in the dark,
like highwaymen and bullies, let us wait till daylight, that the sun
may behold our deeds; and the conditions of our combat shall be that
the vanquished shall be at the victor’s disposal, to do all that he may
enjoin, provided the injunction be such as shall be becoming a knight.”
“I am more than satisfied with these conditions and terms,” replied Don
Quixote; and so saying, they betook themselves to where their squires
lay, and found them snoring, and in the same posture they were in when
sleep fell upon them. They roused them up, and bade them get the horses
ready, as at sunrise they were to engage in a bloody and arduous single
combat; at which intelligence Sancho was aghast and thunderstruck,
trembling for the safety of his master because of the mighty deeds he
had heard the squire of the Grove ascribe to his; but without a word
the two squires went in quest of their cattle; for by this time the
three horses and the ass had smelt one another out, and were all
together.
On the way, he of the Grove said to Sancho, “You must know, brother,
that it is the custom with the fighting men of Andalusia, when they are
godfathers in any quarrel, not to stand idle with folded arms while
their godsons fight; I say so to remind you that while our masters are
fighting, we, too, have to fight, and knock one another to shivers.”
“That custom, sir squire,” replied Sancho, “may hold good among those
bullies and fighting men you talk of, but certainly not among the
squires of knights-errant; at least, I have never heard my master speak
of any custom of the sort, and he knows all the laws of knight-errantry
by heart; but granting it true that there is an express law that
squires are to fight while their masters are fighting, I don’t mean to
obey it, but to pay the penalty that may be laid on peacefully minded
squires like myself; for I am sure it cannot be more than two pounds of
wax, and I would rather pay that, for I know it will cost me less than
the lint I shall be at the expense of to mend my head, which I look
upon as broken and split already; there’s another thing that makes it
impossible for me to fight, that I have no sword, for I never carried
one in my life.”
“I know a good remedy for that,” said he of the Grove; “I have here two
linen bags of the same size; you shall take one, and I the other, and
we will fight at bag blows with equal arms.”
“If that’s the way, so be it with all my heart,” said Sancho, “for that
sort of battle will serve to knock the dust out of us instead of
hurting us.”
“That will not do,” said the other, “for we must put into the bags, to
keep the wind from blowing them away, half a dozen nice smooth pebbles,
all of the same weight; and in this way we shall be able to baste one
another without doing ourselves any harm or mischief.”
“Body of my father!” said Sancho, “see what marten and sable, and pads
of carded cotton he is putting into the bags, that our heads may not be
broken and our bones beaten to jelly! But even if they are filled with
toss silk, I can tell you, señor, I am not going to fight; let our
masters fight, that’s their lookout, and let us drink and live; for
time will take care to ease us of our lives, without our going to look
for fillips so that they may be finished off before their proper time
comes and they drop from ripeness.”
“Still,” returned he of the Grove, “we must fight, if it be only for
half an hour.”
“By no means,” said Sancho; “I am not going to be so discourteous or so
ungrateful as to have any quarrel, be it ever so small, with one I have
eaten and drunk with; besides, who the devil could bring himself to
fight in cold blood, without anger or provocation?”
“I can remedy that entirely,” said he of the Grove, “and in this way:
before we begin the battle, I will come up to your worship fair and
softly, and give you three or four buffets, with which I shall stretch
you at my feet and rouse your anger, though it were sleeping sounder
than a dormouse.”
“To match that plan,” said Sancho, “I have another that is not a whit
behind it; I will take a cudgel, and before your worship comes near
enough to waken my anger I will send yours so sound to sleep with
whacks, that it won’t waken unless it be in the other world, where it
is known that I am not a man to let my face be handled by anyone; let
each look out for the arrow—though the surer way would be to let
everyone’s anger sleep, for nobody knows the heart of anyone, and a man
may come for wool and go back shorn; God gave his blessing to peace and
his curse to quarrels; if a hunted cat, surrounded and hard pressed,
turns into a lion, God knows what I, who am a man, may turn into; and
so from this time forth I warn you, sir squire, that all the harm and
mischief that may come of our quarrel will be put down to your
account.”
“Very good,” said he of the Grove; “God will send the dawn and we shall
be all right.”
And now gay-plumaged birds of all sorts began to warble in the trees,
and with their varied and gladsome notes seemed to welcome and salute
the fresh morn that was beginning to show the beauty of her countenance
at the gates and balconies of the east, shaking from her locks a
profusion of liquid pearls; in which dulcet moisture bathed, the
plants, too, seemed to shed and shower down a pearly spray, the willows
distilled sweet manna, the fountains laughed, the brooks babbled, the
woods rejoiced, and the meadows arrayed themselves in all their glory
at her coming. But hardly had the light of day made it possible to see
and distinguish things, when the first object that presented itself to
the eyes of Sancho Panza was the squire of the Grove’s nose, which was
so big that it almost overshadowed his whole body. It is, in fact,
stated, that it was of enormous size, hooked in the middle, covered
with warts, and of a mulberry colour like an egg-plant; it hung down
two fingers’ length below his mouth, and the size, the colour, the
warts, and the bend of it, made his face so hideous, that Sancho, as he
looked at him, began to tremble hand and foot like a child in
convulsions, and he vowed in his heart to let himself be given two
hundred buffets, sooner than be provoked to fight that monster. Don
Quixote examined his adversary, and found that he already had his
helmet on and visor lowered, so that he could not see his face; he
observed, however, that he was a sturdily built man, but not very tall
in stature. Over his armour he wore a surcoat or cassock of what seemed
to be the finest cloth of gold, all bespangled with glittering mirrors
like little moons, which gave him an extremely gallant and splendid
appearance; above his helmet fluttered a great quantity of plumes,
green, yellow, and white, and his lance, which was leaning against a
tree, was very long and stout, and had a steel point more than a palm
in length.
Don Quixote observed all, and took note of all, and from what he saw
and observed he concluded that the said knight must be a man of great
strength, but he did not for all that give way to fear, like Sancho
Panza; on the contrary, with a composed and dauntless air, he said to
the Knight of the Mirrors, “If, sir knight, your great eagerness to
fight has not banished your courtesy, by it I would entreat you to
raise your visor a little, in order that I may see if the comeliness of
your countenance corresponds with that of your equipment.”
“Whether you come victorious or vanquished out of this emprise, sir
knight,” replied he of the Mirrors, “you will have more than enough
time and leisure to see me; and if now I do not comply with your
request, it is because it seems to me I should do a serious wrong to
the fair Casildea de Vandalia in wasting time while I stopped to raise
my visor before compelling you to confess what you are already aware I
maintain.”
“Well then,” said Don Quixote, “while we are mounting you can at least
tell me if I am that Don Quixote whom you said you vanquished.”
“To that we answer you,” said he of the Mirrors, “that you are as like
the very knight I vanquished as one egg is like another, but as you say
enchanters persecute you, I will not venture to say positively whether
you are the said person or not.”
“That,” said Don Quixote, “is enough to convince me that you are under
a deception; however, entirely to relieve you of it, let our horses be
brought, and in less time than it would take you to raise your visor,
if God, my lady, and my arm stand me in good stead, I shall see your
face, and you shall see that I am not the vanquished Don Quixote you
take me to be.”
With this, cutting short the colloquy, they mounted, and Don Quixote
wheeled Rocinante round in order to take a proper distance to charge
back upon his adversary, and he of the Mirrors did the same; but Don
Quixote had not moved away twenty paces when he heard himself called by
the other, and, each returning half-way, he of the Mirrors said to him,
“Remember, sir knight, that the terms of our combat are, that the
vanquished, as I said before, shall be at the victor’s disposal.”
“I am aware of it already,” said Don Quixote; “provided what is
commanded and imposed upon the vanquished be things that do not
transgress the limits of chivalry.”
“That is understood,” replied he of the Mirrors.
At this moment the extraordinary nose of the squire presented itself to
Don Quixote’s view, and he was no less amazed than Sancho at the sight;
insomuch that he set him down as a monster of some kind, or a human
being of some new species or unearthly breed. Sancho, seeing his master
retiring to run his course, did not like to be left alone with the nosy
man, fearing that with one flap of that nose on his own the battle
would be all over for him and he would be left stretched on the ground,
either by the blow or with fright; so he ran after his master, holding
on to Rocinante’s stirrup-leather, and when it seemed to him time to
turn about, he said, “I implore of your worship, señor, before you turn
to charge, to help me up into this cork tree, from which I will be able
to witness the gallant encounter your worship is going to have with
this knight, more to my taste and better than from the ground.”
“It seems to me rather, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou wouldst
mount a scaffold in order to see the bulls without danger.”
“To tell the truth,” returned Sancho, “the monstrous nose of that
squire has filled me with fear and terror, and I dare not stay near
him.”
“It is,” said Don Quixote, “such a one that were I not what I am it
would terrify me too; so, come, I will help thee up where thou wilt.”
While Don Quixote waited for Sancho to mount into the cork tree he of
the Mirrors took as much ground as he considered requisite, and,
supposing Don Quixote to have done the same, without waiting for any
sound of trumpet or other signal to direct them, he wheeled his horse,
which was not more agile or better-looking than Rocinante, and at his
top speed, which was an easy trot, he proceeded to charge his enemy;
seeing him, however, engaged in putting Sancho up, he drew rein, and
halted in mid career, for which his horse was very grateful, as he was
already unable to go. Don Quixote, fancying that his foe was coming
down upon him flying, drove his spurs vigorously into Rocinante’s lean
flanks and made him scud along in such style that the history tells us
that on this occasion only was he known to make something like running,
for on all others it was a simple trot with him; and with this
unparalleled fury he bore down where he of the Mirrors stood digging
his spurs into his horse up to buttons, without being able to make him
stir a finger’s length from the spot where he had come to a standstill
in his course. At this lucky moment and crisis, Don Quixote came upon
his adversary, in trouble with his horse, and embarrassed with his
lance, which he either could not manage, or had no time to lay in rest.
Don Quixote, however, paid no attention to these difficulties, and in
perfect safety to himself and without any risk encountered him of the
Mirrors with such force that he brought him to the ground in spite of
himself over the haunches of his horse, and with so heavy a fall that
he lay to all appearance dead, not stirring hand or foot. The instant
Sancho saw him fall he slid down from the cork tree, and made all haste
to where his master was, who, dismounting from Rocinante, went and
stood over him of the Mirrors, and unlacing his helmet to see if he was
dead, and to give him air if he should happen to be alive, he saw—who
can say what he saw, without filling all who hear it with astonishment,
wonder, and awe? He saw, the history says, the very countenance, the
very face, the very look, the very physiognomy, the very effigy, the
very image of the bachelor Samson Carrasco! As soon as he saw it he
called out in a loud voice, “Make haste here, Sancho, and behold what
thou art to see but not to believe; quick, my son, and learn what magic
can do, and wizards and enchanters are capable of.”
Sancho came up, and when he saw the countenance of the bachelor
Carrasco, he fell to crossing himself a thousand times, and blessing
himself as many more. All this time the prostrate knight showed no
signs of life, and Sancho said to Don Quixote, “It is my opinion,
señor, that in any case your worship should take and thrust your sword
into the mouth of this one here that looks like the bachelor Samson
Carrasco; perhaps in him you will kill one of your enemies, the
enchanters.”
“Thy advice is not bad,” said Don Quixote, “for of enemies the fewer
the better;” and he was drawing his sword to carry into effect Sancho’s
counsel and suggestion, when the squire of the Mirrors came up, now
without the nose which had made him so hideous, and cried out in a loud
voice, “Mind what you are about, Señor Don Quixote; that is your
friend, the bachelor Samson Carrasco, you have at your feet, and I am
his squire.”
“And the nose?” said Sancho, seeing him without the hideous feature he
had before; to which he replied, “I have it here in my pocket,” and
putting his hand into his right pocket, he pulled out a masquerade nose
of varnished pasteboard of the make already described; and Sancho,
examining him more and more closely, exclaimed aloud in a voice of
amazement, “Holy Mary be good to me! Isn’t it Tom Cecial, my neighbour
and gossip?”
“Why, to be sure I am!” returned the now unnosed squire; “Tom Cecial I
am, gossip and friend Sancho Panza; and I’ll tell you presently the
means and tricks and falsehoods by which I have been brought here; but
in the meantime, beg and entreat of your master not to touch, maltreat,
wound, or slay the Knight of the Mirrors whom he has at his feet;
because, beyond all dispute, it is the rash and ill-advised bachelor
Samson Carrasco, our fellow townsman.”
At this moment he of the Mirrors came to himself, and Don Quixote
perceiving it, held the naked point of his sword over his face, and
said to him, “You are a dead man, knight, unless you confess that the
peerless Dulcinea del Toboso excels your Casildea de Vandalia in
beauty; and in addition to this you must promise, if you should survive
this encounter and fall, to go to the city of El Toboso and present
yourself before her on my behalf, that she deal with you according to
her good pleasure; and if she leaves you free to do yours, you are in
like manner to return and seek me out (for the trail of my mighty deeds
will serve you as a guide to lead you to where I may be), and tell me
what may have passed between you and her—conditions which, in
accordance with what we stipulated before our combat, do not transgress
the just limits of knight-errantry.”
“I confess,” said the fallen knight, “that the dirty tattered shoe of
the lady Dulcinea del Toboso is better than the ill-combed though clean
beard of Casildea; and I promise to go and to return from her presence
to yours, and to give you a full and particular account of all you
demand of me.”
“You must also confess and believe,” added Don Quixote, “that the
knight you vanquished was not and could not be Don Quixote of La
Mancha, but someone else in his likeness, just as I confess and believe
that you, though you seem to be the bachelor Samson Carrasco, are not
so, but some other resembling him, whom my enemies have here put before
me in his shape, in order that I may restrain and moderate the
vehemence of my wrath, and make a gentle use of the glory of my
victory.”
“I confess, hold, and think everything to be as you believe, hold, and
think it,” the crippled knight; “let me rise, I entreat you; if,
indeed, the shock of my fall will allow me, for it has left me in a
sorry plight enough.”
Don Quixote helped him to rise, with the assistance of his squire Tom
Cecial; from whom Sancho never took his eyes, and to whom he put
questions, the replies to which furnished clear proof that he was
really and truly the Tom Cecial he said; but the impression made on
Sancho’s mind by what his master said about the enchanters having
changed the face of the Knight of the Mirrors into that of the bachelor
Samson Carrasco, would not permit him to believe what he saw with his
eyes. In fine, both master and man remained under the delusion; and,
down in the mouth, and out of luck, he of the Mirrors and his squire
parted from Don Quixote and Sancho, he meaning to go look for some
village where he could plaster and strap his ribs. Don Quixote and
Sancho resumed their journey to Saragossa, and on it the history leaves
them in order that it may tell who the Knight of the Mirrors and his
long-nosed squire were.
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