第 七十三 章 · CHAPTER XXI. IN WHICH CAMACHO’S WEDDING IS CONTINUED, WITH OTHER DELIGHTFUL

. CHAPTER XXI. IN WHICH CAMACHO’S WEDDING IS CONTINUED, WITH OTHER DELIGHTFUL

CHAPTER XXI.

IN WHICH CAMACHO’S WEDDING IS CONTINUED, WITH OTHER DELIGHTFUL

INCIDENTS

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While Don Quixote and Sancho were engaged in the discussion set forth

the last chapter, they heard loud shouts and a great noise, which were

uttered and made by the men on the mares as they went at full gallop,

shouting, to receive the bride and bridegroom, who were approaching

with musical instruments and pageantry of all sorts around them, and

accompanied by the priest and the relatives of both, and all the most

distinguished people of the surrounding villages. When Sancho saw the

bride, he exclaimed, “By my faith, she is not dressed like a country

girl, but like some fine court lady; egad, as well as I can make out,

the patena she wears rich coral, and her green Cuenca stuff is

thirty-pile velvet; and then the white linen trimming—by my oath, but

it’s satin! Look at her hands—jet rings on them! May I never have luck

if they’re not gold rings, and real gold, and set with pearls as white

as a curdled milk, and every one of them worth an eye of one’s head!

Whoreson baggage, what hair she has! if it’s not a wig, I never saw

longer or fairer all the days of my life. See how bravely she bears

herself—and her shape! Wouldn’t you say she was like a walking palm

tree loaded with clusters of dates? for the trinkets she has hanging

from her hair and neck look just like them. I swear in my heart she is

a brave lass, and fit ‘to pass over the banks of Flanders.’”

Don Quixote laughed at Sancho’s boorish eulogies and thought that,

saving his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he had never seen a more beautiful

woman. The fair Quiteria appeared somewhat pale, which was, no doubt,

because of the bad night brides always pass dressing themselves out for

their wedding on the morrow. They advanced towards a theatre that stood

on one side of the meadow decked with carpets and boughs, where they

were to plight their troth, and from which they were to behold the

dances and plays; but at the moment of their arrival at the spot they

heard a loud outcry behind them, and a voice exclaiming, “Wait a

little, ye, as inconsiderate as ye are hasty!” At these words all

turned round, and perceived that the speaker was a man clad in what

seemed to be a loose black coat garnished with crimson patches like

flames. He was crowned (as was presently seen) with a crown of gloomy

cypress, and in his hand he held a long staff. As he approached he was

recognised by everyone as the gay Basilio, and all waited anxiously to

see what would come of his words, in dread of some catastrophe in

consequence of his appearance at such a moment. He came up at last

weary and breathless, and planting himself in front of the bridal pair,

drove his staff, which had a steel spike at the end, into the ground,

and, with a pale face and eyes fixed on Quiteria, he thus addressed her

in a hoarse, trembling voice:

“Well dost thou know, ungrateful Quiteria, that according to the holy

law we acknowledge, so long as live thou canst take no husband; nor art

thou ignorant either that, in my hopes that time and my own exertions

would improve my fortunes, I have never failed to observe the respect

due to thy honour; but thou, casting behind thee all thou owest to my

true love, wouldst surrender what is mine to another whose wealth

serves to bring him not only good fortune but supreme happiness; and

now to complete it (not that I think he deserves it, but inasmuch as

heaven is pleased to bestow it upon him), I will, with my own hands, do

away with the obstacle that may interfere with it, and remove myself

from between you. Long live the rich Camacho! many a happy year may he

live with the ungrateful Quiteria! and let the poor Basilio die,

Basilio whose poverty clipped the wings of his happiness, and brought

him to the grave!”

And so saying, he seized the staff he had driven into the ground, and

leaving one half of it fixed there, showed it to be a sheath that

concealed a tolerably long rapier; and, what may be called its hilt

being planted in the ground, he swiftly, coolly, and deliberately threw

himself upon it, and in an instant the bloody point and half the steel

blade appeared at his back, the unhappy man falling to the earth bathed

in his blood, and transfixed by his own weapon.

His friends at once ran to his aid, filled with grief at his misery and

sad fate, and Don Quixote, dismounting from Rocinante, hastened to

support him, and took him in his arms, and found he had not yet ceased

to breathe. They were about to draw out the rapier, but the priest who

was standing by objected to its being withdrawn before he had confessed

him, as the instant of its withdrawal would be that of this death.

Basilio, however, reviving slightly, said in a weak voice, as though in

pain, “If thou wouldst consent, cruel Quiteria, to give me thy hand as

my bride in this last fatal moment, I might still hope that my rashness

would find pardon, as by its means I attained the bliss of being

thine.”

Hearing this the priest bade him think of the welfare of his soul

rather than of the cravings of the body, and in all earnestness implore

God’s pardon for his sins and for his rash resolve; to which Basilio

replied that he was determined not to confess unless Quiteria first

gave him her hand in marriage, for that happiness would compose his

mind and give him courage to make his confession.

Don Quixote hearing the wounded man’s entreaty, exclaimed aloud that

what Basilio asked was just and reasonable, and moreover a request that

might be easily complied with; and that it would be as much to Señor

Camacho’s honour to receive the lady Quiteria as the widow of the brave

Basilio as if he received her direct from her father.

“In this case,” said he, “it will be only to say ‘yes,’ and no

consequences can follow the utterance of the word, for the nuptial

couch of this marriage must be the grave.”

Camacho was listening to all this, perplexed and bewildered and not

knowing what to say or do; but so urgent were the entreaties of

Basilio’s friends, imploring him to allow Quiteria to give him her

hand, so that his soul, quitting this life in despair, should not be

lost, that they moved, nay, forced him, to say that if Quiteria were

willing to give it he was satisfied, as it was only putting off the

fulfillment of his wishes for a moment. At once all assailed Quiteria

and pressed her, some with prayers, and others with tears, and others

with persuasive arguments, to give her hand to poor Basilio; but she,

harder than marble and more unmoved than any statue, seemed unable or

unwilling to utter a word, nor would she have given any reply had not

the priest bade her decide quickly what she meant to do, as Basilio now

had his soul at his teeth, and there was no time for hesitation.

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On this the fair Quiteria, to all appearance distressed, grieved, and

repentant, advanced without a word to where Basilio lay, his eyes

already turned in his head, his breathing short and painful, murmuring

the name of Quiteria between his teeth, and apparently about to die

like a heathen and not like a Christian. Quiteria approached him, and

kneeling, demanded his hand by signs without speaking. Basilio opened

his eyes and gazing fixedly at her, said, “O Quiteria, why hast thou

turned compassionate at a moment when thy compassion will serve as a

dagger to rob me of life, for I have not now the strength left either

to bear the happiness thou givest me in accepting me as thine, or to

suppress the pain that is rapidly drawing the dread shadow of death

over my eyes? What I entreat of thee, O thou fatal star to me, is that

the hand thou demandest of me and wouldst give me, be not given out of

complaisance or to deceive me afresh, but that thou confess and declare

that without any constraint upon thy will thou givest it to me as to

thy lawful husband; for it is not meet that thou shouldst trifle with

me at such a moment as this, or have recourse to falsehoods with one

who has dealt so truly by thee.”

While uttering these words he showed such weakness that the bystanders

expected each return of faintness would take his life with it. Then

Quiteria, overcome with modesty and shame, holding in her right hand

the hand of Basilio, said, “No force would bend my will; as freely,

therefore, as it is possible for me to do so, I give thee the hand of a

lawful wife, and take thine if thou givest it to me of thine own free

will, untroubled and unaffected by the calamity thy hasty act has

brought upon thee.”

“Yes, I give it,” said Basilio, “not agitated or distracted, but with

unclouded reason that heaven is pleased to grant me, thus do I give

myself to be thy husband.”

“And I give myself to be thy wife,” said Quiteria, “whether thou livest

many years, or they carry thee from my arms to the grave.”

“For one so badly wounded,” observed Sancho at this point, “this young

man has a great deal to say; they should make him leave off billing and

cooing, and attend to his soul; for to my thinking he has it more on

his tongue than at his teeth.”

Basilio and Quiteria having thus joined hands, the priest, deeply moved

and with tears in his eyes, pronounced the blessing upon them, and

implored heaven to grant an easy passage to the soul of the newly

wedded man, who, the instant he received the blessing, started nimbly

to his feet and with unparalleled effrontery pulled out the rapier that

had been sheathed in his body. All the bystanders were astounded, and

some, more simple than inquiring, began shouting, “A miracle, a

miracle!” But Basilio replied, “No miracle, no miracle; only a trick, a

trick!” The priest, perplexed and amazed, made haste to examine the

wound with both hands, and found that the blade had passed, not through

Basilio’s flesh and ribs, but through a hollow iron tube full of blood,

which he had adroitly fixed at the place, the blood, as was afterwards

ascertained, having been so prepared as not to congeal. In short, the

priest and Camacho and most of those present saw they were tricked and

made fools of. The bride showed no signs of displeasure at the

deception; on the contrary, hearing them say that the marriage, being

fraudulent, would not be valid, she said that she confirmed it afresh,

whence they all concluded that the affair had been planned by agreement

and understanding between the pair, whereat Camacho and his supporters

were so mortified that they proceeded to revenge themselves by

violence, and a great number of them drawing their swords attacked

Basilio, in whose protection as many more swords were in an instant

unsheathed, while Don Quixote taking the lead on horseback, with his

lance over his arm and well covered with his shield, made all give way

before him. Sancho, who never found any pleasure or enjoyment in such

doings, retreated to the wine-jars from which he had taken his

delectable skimmings, considering that, as a holy place, that spot

would be respected.

“Hold, sirs, hold!” cried Don Quixote in a loud voice; “we have no

right to take vengeance for wrongs that love may do to us: remember

love and war are the same thing, and as in war it is allowable and

common to make use of wiles and stratagems to overcome the enemy, so in

the contests and rivalries of love the tricks and devices employed to

attain the desired end are justifiable, provided they be not to the

discredit or dishonour of the loved object. Quiteria belonged to

Basilio and Basilio to Quiteria by the just and beneficent disposal of

heaven. Camacho is rich, and can purchase his pleasure when, where, and

as it pleases him. Basilio has but this ewe-lamb, and no one, however

powerful he may be, shall take her from him; these two whom God hath

joined man cannot separate; and he who attempts it must first pass the

point of this lance;” and so saying he brandished it so stoutly and

dexterously that he overawed all who did not know him.

But so deep an impression had the rejection of Quiteria made on

Camacho’s mind that it banished her at once from his thoughts; and so

the counsels of the priest, who was a wise and kindly disposed man,

prevailed with him, and by their means he and his partisans were

pacified and tranquillised, and to prove it put up their swords again,

inveighing against the pliancy of Quiteria rather than the craftiness

of Basilio; Camacho maintaining that, if Quiteria as a maiden had such

a love for Basilio, she would have loved him too as a married woman,

and that he ought to thank heaven more for having taken her than for

having given her.

Camacho and those of his following, therefore, being consoled and

pacified, those on Basilio’s side were appeased; and the rich Camacho,

to show that he felt no resentment for the trick, and did not care

about it, desired the festival to go on just as if he were married in

reality. Neither Basilio, however, nor his bride, nor their followers

would take any part in it, and they withdrew to Basilio’s village; for

the poor, if they are persons of virtue and good sense, have those who

follow, honour, and uphold them, just as the rich have those who

flatter and dance attendance on them. With them they carried Don

Quixote, regarding him as a man of worth and a stout one. Sancho alone

had a cloud on his soul, for he found himself debarred from waiting for

Camacho’s splendid feast and festival, which lasted until night; and

thus dragged away, he moodily followed his master, who accompanied

Basilio’s party, and left behind him the flesh-pots of Egypt; though in

his heart he took them with him, and their now nearly finished

skimmings that he carried in the bucket conjured up visions before his

eyes of the glory and abundance of the good cheer he was losing. And

so, vexed and dejected though not hungry, without dismounting from

Dapple he followed in the footsteps of Rocinante.

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