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VOLUME[ PART 2  ]  

CHAPTER[ XXXIV. WHICH RELATES HOW THEY LEARNED THE WAY IN WHICH THEY WERE TO DISENCHANT

THE PEERLESS DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO, WHICH IS ONE OF THE RAREST ADVENTURES

IN THIS BOOK

Great was the pleasure the duke and duchess took in the conversation of

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; and, more bent than ever upon the plan they

had of practising some jokes upon them that should have the look and

appearance of adventures, they took as their basis of action what Don

Quixote had already told them about the cave of Montesinos, in order to

play him a famous one. But what the duchess marvelled at above all was

that Sancho's simplicity could be so great as to make him believe as

absolute truth that Dulcinea had been enchanted, when it was he himself

who had been the enchanter and trickster in the business. Having,

therefore, instructed their servants in everything they were to do, six

days afterwards they took him out to hunt, with as great a retinue of

huntsmen and beaters as a crowned king.

They presented Don Quixote with a hunting suit, and Sancho with another

of the finest green cloth; but Don Quixote declined to put his on, saying

that he must soon return to the hard pursuit of arms, and could not carry

wardrobes or stores with him. Sancho, however, took what they gave him,

meaning to sell it the first opportunity.

The appointed day having arrived, Don Quixote armed himself, and Sancho

arrayed himself, and mounted on his Dapple (for he would not give him up

though they offered him a horse), he placed himself in the midst of the

troop of huntsmen. The duchess came out splendidly attired, and Don

Quixote, in pure courtesy and politeness, held the rein of her palfrey,

though the duke wanted not to allow him; and at last they reached a wood

that lay between two high mountains, where, after occupying various

posts, ambushes, and paths, and distributing the party in different

positions, the hunt began with great noise, shouting, and hallooing, so

that, between the baying of the hounds and the blowing of the horns, they

could not hear one another. The duchess dismounted, and with a sharp

boar-spear in her hand posted herself where she knew the wild boars were

in the habit of passing. The duke and Don Quixote likewise dismounted and

placed themselves one at each side of her. Sancho took up a position in

the rear of all without dismounting from Dapple, whom he dared not desert

lest some mischief should befall him. Scarcely had they taken their stand

in a line with several of their servants, when they saw a huge boar,

closely pressed by the hounds and followed by the huntsmen, making

towards them, grinding his teeth and tusks, and scattering foam from his

mouth. As soon as he saw him Don Quixote, bracing his shield on his arm,

and drawing his sword, advanced to meet him; the duke with boar-spear did

the same; but the duchess would have gone in front of them all had not

the duke prevented her. Sancho alone, deserting Dapple at the sight of

the mighty beast, took to his heels as hard as he could and strove in

vain to mount a tall oak. As he was clinging to a branch, however,

half-way up in his struggle to reach the top, the bough, such was his

ill-luck and hard fate, gave way, and caught in his fall by a broken limb

of the oak, he hung suspended in the air unable to reach the ground.

Finding himself in this position, and that the green coat was beginning

to tear, and reflecting that if the fierce animal came that way he might

be able to get at him, he began to utter such cries, and call for help so

earnestly, that all who heard him and did not see him felt sure he must

be in the teeth of some wild beast. In the end the tusked boar fell

pierced by the blades of the many spears they held in front of him; and

Don Quixote, turning round at the cries of Sancho, for he knew by them

that it was he, saw him hanging from the oak head downwards, with Dapple,

who did not forsake him in his distress, close beside him; and Cide

Hamete observes that he seldom saw Sancho Panza without seeing Dapple, or

Dapple without seeing Sancho Panza; such was their attachment and loyalty

one to the other. Don Quixote went over and unhooked Sancho, who, as soon

as he found himself on the ground, looked at the rent in his huntingcoat

and was grieved to the heart, for he thought he had got a patrimonial

estate in that suit.

Meanwhile they had slung the mighty boar across the back of a mule, and

having covered it with sprigs of rosemary and branches of myrtle, they

bore it away as the spoils of victory to some large field-tents which had

been pitched in the middle of the wood, where they found the tables laid

and dinner served, in such grand and sumptuous style that it was easy to

see the rank and magnificence of those who had provided it. Sancho, as he

showed the rents in his torn suit to the duchess, observed, "If we had

been hunting hares, or after small birds, my coat would have been safe

from being in the plight it's in; I don't know what pleasure one can find

in lying in wait for an animal that may take your life with his tusk if

he gets at you. I recollect having heard an old ballad sung that says,

  By bears be thou devoured, as erst

  Was famous Favila."

"That," said Don Quixote, "was a Gothic king, who, going a-hunting, was

devoured by a bear."

"Just so," said Sancho; "and I would not have kings and princes expose

themselves to such dangers for the sake of a pleasure which, to my mind,

ought not to be one, as it consists in killing an animal that has done no

harm whatever."

"Quite the contrary, Sancho; you are wrong there," said the duke; "for

hunting is more suitable and requisite for kings and princes than for

anybody else. The chase is the emblem of war; it has stratagems, wiles,

and crafty devices for overcoming the enemy in safety; in it extreme cold

and intolerable heat have to be borne, indolence and sleep are despised,

the bodily powers are invigorated, the limbs of him who engages in it are

made supple, and, in a word, it is a pursuit which may be followed

without injury to anyone and with enjoyment to many; and the best of it

is, it is not for everybody, as field-sports of other sorts are, except

hawking, which also is only for kings and great lords. Reconsider your

opinion therefore, Sancho, and when you are governor take to hunting, and

you will find the good of it."

"Nay," said Sancho, "the good governor should have a broken leg and keep

at home;" it would be a nice thing if, after people had been at the

trouble of coming to look for him on business, the governor were to be

away in the forest enjoying himself; the government would go on badly in

that fashion. By my faith, senor, hunting and amusements are more fit for

idlers than for governors; what I intend to amuse myself with is playing

all fours at Eastertime, and bowls on Sundays and holidays; for these

huntings don't suit my condition or agree with my conscience."

"God grant it may turn out so," said the duke; "because it's a long step

from saying to doing."

"Be that as it may," said Sancho, "'pledges don't distress a good payer,'

and 'he whom God helps does better than he who gets up early,' and 'it's

the tripes that carry the feet and not the feet the tripes;' I mean to

say that if God gives me help and I do my duty honestly, no doubt I'll

govern better than a gerfalcon. Nay, let them only put a finger in my

mouth, and they'll see whether I can bite or not."

"The curse of God and all his saints upon thee, thou accursed Sancho!"

exclaimed Don Quixote; "when will the day come--as I have often said to

thee--when I shall hear thee make one single coherent, rational remark

without proverbs? Pray, your highnesses, leave this fool alone, for he

will grind your souls between, not to say two, but two thousand proverbs,

dragged in as much in season, and as much to the purpose as--may God

grant as much health to him, or to me if I want to listen to them!"

"Sancho Panza's proverbs," said the duchess, "though more in number than

the Greek Commander's, are not therefore less to be esteemed for the

conciseness of the maxims. For my own part, I can say they give me more

pleasure than others that may be better brought in and more seasonably

introduced."

In pleasant conversation of this sort they passed out of the tent into

the wood, and the day was spent in visiting some of the posts and

hiding-places, and then night closed in, not, however, as brilliantly or

tranquilly as might have been expected at the season, for it was then

midsummer; but bringing with it a kind of haze that greatly aided the

project of the duke and duchess; and thus, as night began to fall, and a

little after twilight set in, suddenly the whole wood on all four sides

seemed to be on fire, and shortly after, here, there, on all sides, a

vast number of trumpets and other military instruments were heard, as if

several troops of cavalry were passing through the wood. The blaze of the

fire and the noise of the warlike instruments almost blinded the eyes and

deafened the ears of those that stood by, and indeed of all who were in

the wood. Then there were heard repeated lelilies after the fashion of

the Moors when they rush to battle; trumpets and clarions brayed, drums

beat, fifes played, so unceasingly and so fast that he could not have had

any senses who did not lose them with the confused din of so many

instruments. The duke was astounded, the duchess amazed, Don Quixote

wondering, Sancho Panza trembling, and indeed, even they who were aware

of the cause were frightened. In their fear, silence fell upon them, and

a postillion, in the guise of a demon, passed in front of them, blowing,

in lieu of a bugle, a huge hollow horn that gave out a horrible hoarse

note.

"Ho there! brother courier," cried the duke, "who are you? Where are you

going? What troops are these that seem to be passing through the wood?"

To which the courier replied in a harsh, discordant voice, "I am the

devil; I am in search of Don Quixote of La Mancha; those who are coming

this way are six troops of enchanters, who are bringing on a triumphal

car the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso; she comes under enchantment,

together with the gallant Frenchman Montesinos, to give instructions to

Don Quixote as to how, she the said lady, may be disenchanted."

"If you were the devil, as you say and as your appearance indicates,"

said the duke, "you would have known the said knight Don Quixote of La

Mancha, for you have him here before you."

"By God and upon my conscience," said the devil, "I never observed it,

for my mind is occupied with so many different things that I was

forgetting the main thing I came about."

"This demon must be an honest fellow and a good Christian," said Sancho;

"for if he wasn't he wouldn't swear by God and his conscience; I feel

sure now there must be good souls even in hell itself."

Without dismounting, the demon then turned to Don Quixote and said, "The

unfortunate but valiant knight Montesinos sends me to thee, the Knight of

the Lions (would that I saw thee in their claws), bidding me tell thee to

wait for him wherever I may find thee, as he brings with him her whom

they call Dulcinea del Toboso, that he may show thee what is needful in

order to disenchant her; and as I came for no more I need stay no longer;

demons of my sort be with thee, and good angels with these gentles;" and

so saying he blew his huge horn, turned about and went off without

waiting for a reply from anyone.

They all felt fresh wonder, but particularly Sancho and Don Quixote;

Sancho to see how, in defiance of the truth, they would have it that

Dulcinea was enchanted; Don Quixote because he could not feel sure

whether what had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos was true or

not; and as he was deep in these cogitations the duke said to him, "Do

you mean to wait, Senor Don Quixote?"

"Why not?" replied he; "here will I wait, fearless and firm, though all

hell should come to attack me."

"Well then, if I see another devil or hear another horn like the last,

I'll wait here as much as in Flanders," said Sancho.

Night now closed in more completely, and many lights began to flit

through the wood, just as those fiery exhalations from the earth, that

look like shooting-stars to our eyes, flit through the heavens; a

frightful noise, too, was heard, like that made by the solid wheels the

ox-carts usually have, by the harsh, ceaseless creaking of which, they

say, the bears and wolves are put to flight, if there happen to be any

where they are passing. In addition to all this commotion, there came a

further disturbance to increase the tumult, for now it seemed as if in

truth, on all four sides of the wood, four encounters or battles were

going on at the same time; in one quarter resounded the dull noise of a

terrible cannonade, in another numberless muskets were being discharged,

the shouts of the combatants sounded almost close at hand, and farther

away the Moorish lelilies were raised again and again. In a word, the

bugles, the horns, the clarions, the trumpets, the drums, the cannon, the

musketry, and above all the tremendous noise of the carts, all made up

together a din so confused and terrific that Don Quixote had need to

summon up all his courage to brave it; but Sancho's gave way, and he fell

fainting on the skirt of the duchess's robe, who let him lie there and

promptly bade them throw water in his face. This was done, and he came to

himself by the time that one of the carts with the creaking wheels

reached the spot. It was drawn by four plodding oxen all covered with

black housings; on each horn they had fixed a large lighted wax taper,

and on the top of the cart was constructed a raised seat, on which sat a

venerable old man with a beard whiter than the very snow, and so long

that it fell below his waist; he was dressed in a long robe of black

buckram; for as the cart was thickly set with a multitude of candles it

was easy to make out everything that was on it. Leading it were two

hideous demons, also clad in buckram, with countenances so frightful that

Sancho, having once seen them, shut his eyes so as not to see them again.

As soon as the cart came opposite the spot the old man rose from his

lofty seat, and standing up said in a loud voice, "I am the sage

Lirgandeo," and without another word the cart then passed on. Behind it

came another of the same form, with another aged man enthroned, who,

stopping the cart, said in a voice no less solemn than that of the first,

"I am the sage Alquife, the great friend of Urganda the Unknown," and

passed on. Then another cart came by at the same pace, but the occupant

of the throne was not old like the others, but a man stalwart and robust,

and of a forbidding countenance, who as he came up said in a voice far

hoarser and more devilish, "I am the enchanter Archelaus, the mortal

enemy of Amadis of Gaul and all his kindred," and then passed on. Having

gone a short distance the three carts halted and the monotonous noise of

their wheels ceased, and soon after they heard another, not noise, but

sound of sweet, harmonious music, of which Sancho was very glad, taking

it to be a good sign; and said he to the duchess, from whom he did not

stir a step, or for a single instant, "Senora, where there's music there

can't be mischief."

"Nor where there are lights and it is bright," said the duchess; to which

Sancho replied, "Fire gives light, and it's bright where there are

bonfires, as we see by those that are all round us and perhaps may burn

us; but music is a sign of mirth and merrymaking."

"That remains to be seen," said Don Quixote, who was listening to all

that passed; and he was right, as is shown in the following chapter.

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