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VOLUME[ VOLUME 1  ]  

CHAPTER[ XXXVI. WHICH TREATS OF MORE CURIOUS INCIDENTS THAT OCCURRED AT THE INN

Just at that instant the landlord, who was standing at the gate of the

inn, exclaimed, "Here comes a fine troop of guests; if they stop here we

may say gaudeamus."

"What are they?" said Cardenio.

"Four men," said the landlord, "riding a la jineta, with lances and

bucklers, and all with black veils, and with them there is a woman in

white on a side-saddle, whose face is also veiled, and two attendants on

foot."

"Are they very near?" said the curate.

"So near," answered the landlord, "that here they come."

Hearing this Dorothea covered her face, and Cardenio retreated into Don

Quixote's room, and they hardly had time to do so before the whole party

the host had described entered the inn, and the four that were on

horseback, who were of highbred appearance and bearing, dismounted, and

came forward to take down the woman who rode on the side-saddle, and one

of them taking her in his arms placed her in a chair that stood at the

entrance of the room where Cardenio had hidden himself. All this time

neither she nor they had removed their veils or spoken a word, only on

sitting down on the chair the woman gave a deep sigh and let her arms

fall like one that was ill and weak. The attendants on foot then led the

horses away to the stable. Observing this the curate, curious to know who

these people in such a dress and preserving such silence were, went to

where the servants were standing and put the question to one of them, who

answered him.

"Faith, sir, I cannot tell you who they are, I only know they seem to be

people of distinction, particularly he who advanced to take the lady you

saw in his arms; and I say so because all the rest show him respect, and

nothing is done except what he directs and orders."

"And the lady, who is she?" asked the curate.

"That I cannot tell you either," said the servant, "for I have not seen

her face all the way: I have indeed heard her sigh many times and utter

such groans that she seems to be giving up the ghost every time; but it

is no wonder if we do not know more than we have told you, as my comrade

and I have only been in their company two days, for having met us on the

road they begged and persuaded us to accompany them to Andalusia,

promising to pay us well."

"And have you heard any of them called by his name?" asked the curate.

"No, indeed," replied the servant; "they all preserve a marvellous

silence on the road, for not a sound is to be heard among them except the

poor lady's sighs and sobs, which make us pity her; and we feel sure that

wherever it is she is going, it is against her will, and as far as one

can judge from her dress she is a nun or, what is more likely, about to

become one; and perhaps it is because taking the vows is not of her own

free will, that she is so unhappy as she seems to be."

"That may well be," said the curate, and leaving them he returned to

where Dorothea was, who, hearing the veiled lady sigh, moved by natural

compassion drew near to her and said, "What are you suffering from,

senora? If it be anything that women are accustomed and know how to

relieve, I offer you my services with all my heart."

To this the unhappy lady made no reply; and though Dorothea repeated her

offers more earnestly she still kept silence, until the gentleman with

the veil, who, the servant said, was obeyed by the rest, approached and

said to Dorothea, "Do not give yourself the trouble, senora, of making

any offers to that woman, for it is her way to give no thanks for

anything that is done for her; and do not try to make her answer unless

you want to hear some lie from her lips."

"I have never told a lie," was the immediate reply of her who had been

silent until now; "on the contrary, it is because I am so truthful and so

ignorant of lying devices that I am now in this miserable condition; and

this I call you yourself to witness, for it is my unstained truth that

has made you false and a liar."

Cardenio heard these words clearly and distinctly, being quite close to

the speaker, for there was only the door of Don Quixote's room between

them, and the instant he did so, uttering a loud exclamation he cried,

"Good God! what is this I hear? What voice is this that has reached my

ears?" Startled at the voice the lady turned her head; and not seeing the

speaker she stood up and attempted to enter the room; observing which the

gentleman held her back, preventing her from moving a step. In her

agitation and sudden movement the silk with which she had covered her

face fell off and disclosed a countenance of incomparable and marvellous

beauty, but pale and terrified; for she kept turning her eyes, everywhere

she could direct her gaze, with an eagerness that made her look as if she

had lost her senses, and so marked that it excited the pity of Dorothea

and all who beheld her, though they knew not what caused it. The

gentleman grasped her firmly by the shoulders, and being so fully

occupied with holding her back, he was unable to put a hand to his veil

which was falling off, as it did at length entirely, and Dorothea, who

was holding the lady in her arms, raising her eyes saw that he who

likewise held her was her husband, Don Fernando. The instant she

recognised him, with a prolonged plaintive cry drawn from the depths of

her heart, she fell backwards fainting, and but for the barber being

close by to catch her in his arms, she would have fallen completely to

the ground. The curate at once hastened to uncover her face and throw

water on it, and as he did so Don Fernando, for he it was who held the

other in his arms, recognised her and stood as if death-stricken by the

sight; not, however, relaxing his grasp of Luscinda, for it was she that

was struggling to release herself from his hold, having recognised

Cardenio by his voice, as he had recognised her. Cardenio also heard

Dorothea's cry as she fell fainting, and imagining that it came from his

Luscinda burst forth in terror from the room, and the first thing he saw

was Don Fernando with Luscinda in his arms. Don Fernando, too, knew

Cardenio at once; and all three, Luscinda, Cardenio, and Dorothea, stood

in silent amazement scarcely knowing what had happened to them.

They gazed at one another without speaking, Dorothea at Don Fernando, Don

Fernando at Cardenio, Cardenio at Luscinda, and Luscinda at Cardenio. The

first to break silence was Luscinda, who thus addressed Don Fernando:

"Leave me, Senor Don Fernando, for the sake of what you owe to yourself;

if no other reason will induce you, leave me to cling to the wall of

which I am the ivy, to the support from which neither your importunities,

nor your threats, nor your promises, nor your gifts have been able to

detach me. See how Heaven, by ways strange and hidden from our sight, has

brought me face to face with my true husband; and well you know by

dear-bought experience that death alone will be able to efface him from

my memory. May this plain declaration, then, lead you, as you can do

nothing else, to turn your love into rage, your affection into

resentment, and so to take my life; for if I yield it up in the presence

of my beloved husband I count it well bestowed; it may be by my death he

will be convinced that I kept my faith to him to the last moment of

life."

Meanwhile Dorothea had come to herself, and had heard Luscinda's words,

by means of which she divined who she was; but seeing that Don Fernando

did not yet release her or reply to her, summoning up her resolution as

well as she could she rose and knelt at his feet, and with a flood of

bright and touching tears addressed him thus:

"If, my lord, the beams of that sun that thou holdest eclipsed in thine

arms did not dazzle and rob thine eyes of sight thou wouldst have seen by

this time that she who kneels at thy feet is, so long as thou wilt have

it so, the unhappy and unfortunate Dorothea. I am that lowly peasant girl

whom thou in thy goodness or for thy pleasure wouldst raise high enough

to call herself thine; I am she who in the seclusion of innocence led a

contented life until at the voice of thy importunity, and thy true and

tender passion, as it seemed, she opened the gates of her modesty and

surrendered to thee the keys of her liberty; a gift received by thee but

thanklessly, as is clearly shown by my forced retreat to the place where

thou dost find me, and by thy appearance under the circumstances in which

I see thee. Nevertheless, I would not have thee suppose that I have come

here driven by my shame; it is only grief and sorrow at seeing myself

forgotten by thee that have led me. It was thy will to make me thine, and

thou didst so follow thy will, that now, even though thou repentest, thou

canst not help being mine. Bethink thee, my lord, the unsurpassable

affection I bear thee may compensate for the beauty and noble birth for

which thou wouldst desert me. Thou canst not be the fair Luscinda's

because thou art mine, nor can she be thine because she is Cardenio's;

and it will be easier, remember, to bend thy will to love one who adores

thee, than to lead one to love thee who abhors thee now. Thou didst

address thyself to my simplicity, thou didst lay siege to my virtue, thou

wert not ignorant of my station, well dost thou know how I yielded wholly

to thy will; there is no ground or reason for thee to plead deception,

and if it be so, as it is, and if thou art a Christian as thou art a

gentleman, why dost thou by such subterfuges put off making me as happy

at last as thou didst at first? And if thou wilt not have me for what I

am, thy true and lawful wife, at least take and accept me as thy slave,

for so long as I am thine I will count myself happy and fortunate. Do not

by deserting me let my shame become the talk of the gossips in the

streets; make not the old age of my parents miserable; for the loyal

services they as faithful vassals have ever rendered thine are not

deserving of such a return; and if thou thinkest it will debase thy blood

to mingle it with mine, reflect that there is little or no nobility in

the world that has not travelled the same road, and that in illustrious

lineages it is not the woman's blood that is of account; and, moreover,

that true nobility consists in virtue, and if thou art wanting in that,

refusing me what in justice thou owest me, then even I have higher claims

to nobility than thine. To make an end, senor, these are my last words to

thee: whether thou wilt, or wilt not, I am thy wife; witness thy words,

which must not and ought not to be false, if thou dost pride thyself on

that for want of which thou scornest me; witness the pledge which thou

didst give me, and witness Heaven, which thou thyself didst call to

witness the promise thou hadst made me; and if all this fail, thy own

conscience will not fail to lift up its silent voice in the midst of all

thy gaiety, and vindicate the truth of what I say and mar thy highest

pleasure and enjoyment."

All this and more the injured Dorothea delivered with such earnest

feeling and such tears that all present, even those who came with Don

Fernando, were constrained to join her in them. Don Fernando listened to

her without replying, until, ceasing to speak, she gave way to such sobs

and sighs that it must have been a heart of brass that was not softened

by the sight of so great sorrow. Luscinda stood regarding her with no

less compassion for her sufferings than admiration for her intelligence

and beauty, and would have gone to her to say some words of comfort to

her, but was prevented by Don Fernando's grasp which held her fast. He,

overwhelmed with confusion and astonishment, after regarding Dorothea for

some moments with a fixed gaze, opened his arms, and, releasing Luscinda,

exclaimed:

"Thou hast conquered, fair Dorothea, thou hast conquered, for it is

impossible to have the heart to deny the united force of so many truths."

Luscinda in her feebleness was on the point of falling to the ground when

Don Fernando released her, but Cardenio, who stood near, having retreated

behind Don Fernando to escape recognition, casting fear aside and

regardless of what might happen, ran forward to support her, and said as

he clasped her in his arms, "If Heaven in its compassion is willing to

let thee rest at last, mistress of my heart, true, constant, and fair,

nowhere canst thou rest more safely than in these arms that now receive

thee, and received thee before when fortune permitted me to call thee

mine."

At these words Luscinda looked up at Cardenio, at first beginning to

recognise him by his voice and then satisfying herself by her eyes that

it was he, and hardly knowing what she did, and heedless of all

considerations of decorum, she flung her arms around his neck and

pressing her face close to his, said, "Yes, my dear lord, you are the

true master of this your slave, even though adverse fate interpose again,

and fresh dangers threaten this life that hangs on yours."

A strange sight was this for Don Fernando and those that stood around,

filled with surprise at an incident so unlooked for. Dorothea fancied

that Don Fernando changed colour and looked as though he meant to take

vengeance on Cardenio, for she observed him put his hand to his sword;

and the instant the idea struck her, with wonderful quickness she clasped

him round the knees, and kissing them and holding him so as to prevent

his moving, she said, while her tears continued to flow, "What is it thou

wouldst do, my only refuge, in this unforeseen event? Thou hast thy wife

at thy feet, and she whom thou wouldst have for thy wife is in the arms

of her husband: reflect whether it will be right for thee, whether it

will be possible for thee to undo what Heaven has done, or whether it

will be becoming in thee to seek to raise her to be thy mate who in spite

of every obstacle, and strong in her truth and constancy, is before thine

eyes, bathing with the tears of love the face and bosom of her lawful

husband. For God's sake I entreat of thee, for thine own I implore thee,

let not this open manifestation rouse thy anger; but rather so calm it as

to allow these two lovers to live in peace and quiet without any

interference from thee so long as Heaven permits them; and in so doing

thou wilt prove the generosity of thy lofty noble spirit, and the world

shall see that with thee reason has more influence than passion."

All the time Dorothea was speaking, Cardenio, though he held Luscinda in

his arms, never took his eyes off Don Fernando, determined, if he saw him

make any hostile movement, to try and defend himself and resist as best

he could all who might assail him, though it should cost him his life.

But now Don Fernando's friends, as well as the curate and the barber, who

had been present all the while, not forgetting the worthy Sancho Panza,

ran forward and gathered round Don Fernando, entreating him to have

regard for the tears of Dorothea, and not suffer her reasonable hopes to

be disappointed, since, as they firmly believed, what she said was but

the truth; and bidding him observe that it was not, as it might seem, by

accident, but by a special disposition of Providence that they had all

met in a place where no one could have expected a meeting. And the curate

bade him remember that only death could part Luscinda from Cardenio; that

even if some sword were to separate them they would think their death

most happy; and that in a case that admitted of no remedy his wisest

course was, by conquering and putting a constraint upon himself, to show

a generous mind, and of his own accord suffer these two to enjoy the

happiness Heaven had granted them. He bade him, too, turn his eyes upon

the beauty of Dorothea and he would see that few if any could equal much

less excel her; while to that beauty should be added her modesty and the

surpassing love she bore him. But besides all this, he reminded him that

if he prided himself on being a gentleman and a Christian, he could not

do otherwise than keep his plighted word; and that in doing so he would

obey God and meet the approval of all sensible people, who know and

recognised it to be the privilege of beauty, even in one of humble birth,

provided virtue accompany it, to be able to raise itself to the level of

any rank, without any slur upon him who places it upon an equality with

himself; and furthermore that when the potent sway of passion asserts

itself, so long as there be no mixture of sin in it, he is not to be

blamed who gives way to it.

To be brief, they added to these such other forcible arguments that Don

Fernando's manly heart, being after all nourished by noble blood, was

touched, and yielded to the truth which, even had he wished it, he could

not gainsay; and he showed his submission, and acceptance of the good

advice that had been offered to him, by stooping down and embracing

Dorothea, saying to her, "Rise, dear lady, it is not right that what I

hold in my heart should be kneeling at my feet; and if until now I have

shown no sign of what I own, it may have been by Heaven's decree in order

that, seeing the constancy with which you love me, I may learn to value

you as you deserve. What I entreat of you is that you reproach me not

with my transgression and grievous wrong-doing; for the same cause and

force that drove me to make you mine impelled me to struggle against

being yours; and to prove this, turn and look at the eyes of the now

happy Luscinda, and you will see in them an excuse for all my errors: and

as she has found and gained the object of her desires, and I have found

in you what satisfies all my wishes, may she live in peace and

contentment as many happy years with her Cardenio, as on my knees I pray

Heaven to allow me to live with my Dorothea;" and with these words he

once more embraced her and pressed his face to hers with so much

tenderness that he had to take great heed to keep his tears from

completing the proof of his love and repentance in the sight of all. Not

so Luscinda, and Cardenio, and almost all the others, for they shed so

many tears, some in their own happiness, some at that of the others, that

one would have supposed a heavy calamity had fallen upon them all. Even

Sancho Panza was weeping; though afterwards he said he only wept because

he saw that Dorothea was not as he fancied the queen Micomicona, of whom

he expected such great favours. Their wonder as well as their weeping

lasted some time, and then Cardenio and Luscinda went and fell on their

knees before Don Fernando, returning him thanks for the favour he had

rendered them in language so grateful that he knew not how to answer

them, and raising them up embraced them with every mark of affection and

courtesy.

He then asked Dorothea how she had managed to reach a place so far

removed from her own home, and she in a few fitting words told all that

she had previously related to Cardenio, with which Don Fernando and his

companions were so delighted that they wished the story had been longer;

so charmingly did Dorothea describe her misadventures. When she had

finished Don Fernando recounted what had befallen him in the city after

he had found in Luscinda's bosom the paper in which she declared that she

was Cardenio's wife, and never could be his. He said he meant to kill

her, and would have done so had he not been prevented by her parents, and

that he quitted the house full of rage and shame, and resolved to avenge

himself when a more convenient opportunity should offer. The next day he

learned that Luscinda had disappeared from her father's house, and that

no one could tell whither she had gone. Finally, at the end of some

months he ascertained that she was in a convent and meant to remain there

all the rest of her life, if she were not to share it with Cardenio; and

as soon as he had learned this, taking these three gentlemen as his

companions, he arrived at the place where she was, but avoided speaking

to her, fearing that if it were known he was there stricter precautions

would be taken in the convent; and watching a time when the porter's

lodge was open he left two to guard the gate, and he and the other

entered the convent in quest of Luscinda, whom they found in the

cloisters in conversation with one of the nuns, and carrying her off

without giving her time to resist, they reached a place with her where

they provided themselves with what they required for taking her away; all

which they were able to do in complete safety, as the convent was in the

country at a considerable distance from the city. He added that when

Luscinda found herself in his power she lost all consciousness, and after

returning to herself did nothing but weep and sigh without speaking a

word; and thus in silence and tears they reached that inn, which for him

was reaching heaven where all the mischances of earth are over and at an

end.

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