第 七十六 章 · CHAPTER XXIV. WHEREIN ARE RELATED A THOUSAND TRIFLING MATTERS, AS TRIVIAL AS THEY ARE

. CHAPTER XXIV. WHEREIN ARE RELATED A THOUSAND TRIFLING MATTERS, AS TRIVIAL AS THEY ARE

CHAPTER XXIV.

WHEREIN ARE RELATED A THOUSAND TRIFLING MATTERS, AS TRIVIAL AS THEY ARE

NECESSARY TO THE RIGHT UNDERSTANDING OF THIS GREAT HISTORY

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He who translated this great history from the original written by its

first author, Cide Hamete Benengeli, says that on coming to the chapter

giving the adventures of the cave of Montesinos he found written on the

margin of it, in Hamete’s own hand, these exact words:

“I cannot convince or persuade myself that everything that is written

in the preceding chapter could have precisely happened to the valiant

Don Quixote; and for this reason, that all the adventures that have

occurred up to the present have been possible and probable; but as for

this one of the cave, I see no way of accepting it as true, as it

passes all reasonable bounds. For me to believe that Don Quixote could

lie, he being the most truthful gentleman and the noblest knight of his

time, is impossible; he would not have told a lie though he were shot

to death with arrows. On the other hand, I reflect that he related and

told the story with all the circumstances detailed, and that he could

not in so short a space have fabricated such a vast complication of

absurdities; if, then, this adventure seems apocryphal, it is no fault

of mine; and so, without affirming its falsehood or its truth, I write

it down. Decide for thyself in thy wisdom, reader; for I am not bound,

nor is it in my power, to do more; though certain it is they say that

at the time of his death he retracted, and said he had invented it,

thinking it matched and tallied with the adventures he had read of in

his histories.” And then he goes on to say:

The cousin was amazed as well at Sancho’s boldness as at the patience

of his master, and concluded that the good temper the latter displayed

arose from the happiness he felt at having seen his lady Dulcinea, even

enchanted as she was; because otherwise the words and language Sancho

had addressed to him deserved a thrashing; for indeed he seemed to him

to have been rather impudent to his master, to whom he now observed,

“I, Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, look upon the time I have spent in

travelling with your worship as very well employed, for I have gained

four things in the course of it; the first is that I have made your

acquaintance, which I consider great good fortune; the second, that I

have learned what the cave of Montesinos contains, together with the

transformations of Guadiana and of the lakes of Ruidera; which will be

of use to me for the Spanish Ovid that I have in hand; the third, to

have discovered the antiquity of cards, that they were in use at least

in the time of Charlemagne, as may be inferred from the words you say

Durandarte uttered when, at the end of that long spell while Montesinos

was talking to him, he woke up and said, ‘Patience and shuffle.’ This

phrase and expression he could not have learned while he was enchanted,

but only before he had become so, in France, and in the time of the

aforesaid emperor Charlemagne. And this demonstration is just the thing

for me for that other book I am writing, the ‘Supplement to Polydore

Vergil on the Invention of Antiquities;’ for I believe he never thought

of inserting that of cards in his book, as I mean to do in mine, and it

will be a matter of great importance, particularly when I can cite so

grave and veracious an authority as Señor Durandarte. And the fourth

thing is, that I have ascertained the source of the river Guadiana,

heretofore unknown to mankind.”

“You are right,” said Don Quixote; “but I should like to know, if by

God’s favour they grant you a licence to print those books of

yours—which I doubt—to whom do you mean to dedicate them?”

“There are lords and grandees in Spain to whom they can be dedicated,”

said the cousin.

“Not many,” said Don Quixote; “not that they are unworthy of it, but

because they do not care to accept books and incur the obligation of

making the return that seems due to the author’s labour and courtesy.

One prince I know who makes up for all the rest, and more—how much

more, if I ventured to say, perhaps I should stir up envy in many a

noble breast; but let this stand over for some more convenient time,

and let us go and look for some place to shelter ourselves in

to-night.”

“Not far from this,” said the cousin, “there is a hermitage, where

there lives a hermit, who they say was a soldier, and who has the

reputation of being a good Christian and a very intelligent and

charitable man. Close to the hermitage he has a small house which he

built at his own cost, but though small it is large enough for the

reception of guests.”

“Has this hermit any hens, do you think?” asked Sancho.

“Few hermits are without them,” said Don Quixote; “for those we see

now-a-days are not like the hermits of the Egyptian deserts who were

clad in palm-leaves, and lived on the roots of the earth. But do not

think that by praising these I am disparaging the others; all I mean to

say is that the penances of those of the present day do not come up to

the asceticism and austerity of former times; but it does not follow

from this that they are not all worthy; at least I think them so; and

at the worst the hypocrite who pretends to be good does less harm than

the open sinner.”

At this point they saw approaching the spot where they stood a man on

foot, proceeding at a rapid pace, and beating a mule loaded with lances

and halberds. When he came up to them, he saluted them and passed on

without stopping. Don Quixote called to him, “Stay, good fellow; you

seem to be making more haste than suits that mule.”

“I cannot stop, señor,” answered the man; “for the arms you see I carry

here are to be used to-morrow, so I must not delay; God be with you.

But if you want to know what I am carrying them for, I mean to lodge

to-night at the inn that is beyond the hermitage, and if you be going

the same road you will find me there, and I will tell you some curious

things; once more God be with you;” and he urged on his mule at such a

pace that Don Quixote had no time to ask him what these curious things

were that he meant to tell them; and as he was somewhat inquisitive,

and always tortured by his anxiety to learn something new, he decided

to set out at once, and go and pass the night at the inn instead of

stopping at the hermitage, where the cousin would have had them halt.

Accordingly they mounted and all three took the direct road for the

inn, which they reached a little before nightfall. On the road the

cousin proposed they should go up to the hermitage to drink a sup. The

instant Sancho heard this he steered his Dapple towards it, and Don

Quixote and the cousin did the same; but it seems Sancho’s bad luck so

ordered it that the hermit was not at home, for so a sub-hermit they

found in the hermitage told them. They called for some of the best. She

replied that her master had none, but that if they liked cheap water

she would give it with great pleasure.

“If I found any in water,” said Sancho, “there are wells along the road

where I could have had enough of it. Ah, Camacho’s wedding, and

plentiful house of Don Diego, how often do I miss you!”

Leaving the hermitage, they pushed on towards the inn, and a little

farther they came upon a youth who was pacing along in front of them at

no great speed, so that they overtook him. He carried a sword over his

shoulder, and slung on it a budget or bundle of his clothes apparently,

probably his breeches or pantaloons, and his cloak and a shirt or two;

for he had on a short jacket of velvet with a gloss like satin on it in

places, and had his shirt out; his stockings were of silk, and his

shoes square-toed as they wear them at court. His age might have been

eighteen or nineteen; he was of a merry countenance, and to all

appearance of an active habit, and he went along singing seguidillas to

beguile the wearisomeness of the road. As they came up with him he was

just finishing one, which the cousin got by heart and they say ran

thus—

I’m off to the wars

For the want of pence,

Oh, had I but money

I’d show more sense.

The first to address him was Don Quixote, who said, “You travel very

airily, sir gallant; whither bound, may we ask, if it is your pleasure

to tell us?”

To which the youth replied, “The heat and my poverty are the reason of

my travelling so airily, and it is to the wars that I am bound.”

“How poverty?” asked Don Quixote; “the heat one can understand.”

“Señor,” replied the youth, “in this bundle I carry velvet pantaloons

to match this jacket; if I wear them out on the road, I shall not be

able to make a decent appearance in them in the city, and I have not

the wherewithal to buy others; and so for this reason, as well as to

keep myself cool, I am making my way in this fashion to overtake some

companies of infantry that are not twelve leagues off, in which I shall

enlist, and there will be no want of baggage trains to travel with

after that to the place of embarkation, which they say will be

Carthagena; I would rather have the King for a master, and serve him in

the wars, than serve a court pauper.”

“And did you get any bounty, now?” asked the cousin.

“If I had been in the service of some grandee of Spain or personage of

distinction,” replied the youth, “I should have been safe to get it;

for that is the advantage of serving good masters, that out of the

servants’ hall men come to be ancients or captains, or get a good

pension. But I, to my misfortune, always served place-hunters and

adventurers, whose keep and wages were so miserable and scanty that

half went in paying for the starching of one’s collars; it would be a

miracle indeed if a page volunteer ever got anything like a reasonable

bounty.”

“And tell me, for heaven’s sake,” asked Don Quixote, “is it possible,

my friend, that all the time you served you never got any livery?”

“They gave me two,” replied the page; “but just as when one quits a

religious community before making profession, they strip him of the

dress of the order and give him back his own clothes, so did my masters

return me mine; for as soon as the business on which they came to court

was finished, they went home and took back the liveries they had given

merely for show.”

“What spilorceria!—as an Italian would say,” said Don Quixote; “but for

all that, consider yourself happy in having left court with as worthy

an object as you have, for there is nothing on earth more honourable or

profitable than serving, first of all God, and then one’s king and

natural lord, particularly in the profession of arms, by which, if not

more wealth, at least more honour is to be won than by letters, as I

have said many a time; for though letters may have founded more great

houses than arms, still those founded by arms have I know not what

superiority over those founded by letters, and a certain splendour

belonging to them that distinguishes them above all. And bear in mind

what I am now about to say to you, for it will be of great use and

comfort to you in time of trouble; it is, not to let your mind dwell on

the adverse chances that may befall you; for the worst of all is death,

and if it be a good death, the best of all is to die. They asked Julius

Cæsar, the valiant Roman emperor, what was the best death. He answered,

that which is unexpected, which comes suddenly and unforeseen; and

though he answered like a pagan, and one without the knowledge of the

true God, yet, as far as sparing our feelings is concerned, he was

right; for suppose you are killed in the first engagement or skirmish,

whether by a cannon ball or blown up by mine, what matters it? It is

only dying, and all is over; and according to Terence, a soldier shows

better dead in battle, than alive and safe in flight; and the good

soldier wins fame in proportion as he is obedient to his captains and

those in command over him. And remember, my son, that it is better for

the soldier to smell of gunpowder than of civet, and that if old age

should come upon you in this honourable calling, though you may be

covered with wounds and crippled and lame, it will not come upon you

without honour, and that such as poverty cannot lessen; especially now

that provisions are being made for supporting and relieving old and

disabled soldiers; for it is not right to deal with them after the

fashion of those who set free and get rid of their black slaves when

they are old and useless, and, turning them out of their houses under

the pretence of making them free, make them slaves to hunger, from

which they cannot expect to be released except by death. But for the

present I won’t say more than get ye up behind me on my horse as far as

the inn, and sup with me there, and to-morrow you shall pursue your

journey, and God give you as good speed as your intentions deserve.”

The page did not accept the invitation to mount, though he did that to

supper at the inn; and here they say Sancho said to himself, “God be

with you for a master; is it possible that a man who can say things so

many and so good as he has said just now, can say that he saw the

impossible absurdities he reports about the cave of Montesinos? Well,

well, we shall see.”

And now, just as night was falling, they reached the inn, and it was

not without satisfaction that Sancho perceived his master took it for a

real inn, and not for a castle as usual. The instant they entered Don

Quixote asked the landlord after the man with the lances and halberds,

and was told that he was in the stable seeing to his mule; which was

what Sancho and the cousin proceeded to do for their beasts, giving the

best manger and the best place in the stable to Rocinante.

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