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VOLUME[ PART 2  ]  

CHAPTER[ X. WHEREIN IS RELATED THE CRAFTY DEVICE SANCHO ADOPTED TO ENCHANT THE LADY

DULCINEA, AND OTHER INCIDENTS AS LUDICROUS AS THEY ARE TRUE

When the author of this great history comes to relate what is set down in

this chapter he says he would have preferred to pass it over in silence,

fearing it would not be believed, because here Don Quixote's madness

reaches the confines of the greatest that can be conceived, and even goes

a couple of bowshots beyond the greatest. But after all, though still

under the same fear and apprehension, he has recorded it without adding

to the story or leaving out a particle of the truth, and entirely

disregarding the charges of falsehood that might be brought against him;

and he was right, for the truth may run fine but will not break, and

always rises above falsehood as oil above water; and so, going on with

his story, he says that as soon as Don Quixote had ensconced himself in

the forest, oak grove, or wood near El Toboso, he bade Sancho return to

the city, and not come into his presence again without having first

spoken on his behalf to his lady, and begged of her that it might be her

good pleasure to permit herself to be seen by her enslaved knight, and

deign to bestow her blessing upon him, so that he might thereby hope for

a happy issue in all his encounters and difficult enterprises. Sancho

undertook to execute the task according to the instructions, and to bring

back an answer as good as the one he brought back before.

"Go, my son," said Don Quixote, "and be not dazed when thou findest

thyself exposed to the light of that sun of beauty thou art going to

seek. Happy thou, above all the squires in the world! Bear in mind, and

let it not escape thy memory, how she receives thee; if she changes

colour while thou art giving her my message; if she is agitated and

disturbed at hearing my name; if she cannot rest upon her cushion,

shouldst thou haply find her seated in the sumptuous state chamber proper

to her rank; and should she be standing, observe if she poises herself

now on one foot, now on the other; if she repeats two or three times the

reply she gives thee; if she passes from gentleness to austerity, from

asperity to tenderness; if she raises her hand to smooth her hair though

it be not disarranged. In short, my son, observe all her actions and

motions, for if thou wilt report them to me as they were, I will gather

what she hides in the recesses of her heart as regards my love; for I

would have thee know, Sancho, if thou knowest it not, that with lovers

the outward actions and motions they give way to when their loves are in

question are the faithful messengers that carry the news of what is going

on in the depths of their hearts. Go, my friend, may better fortune than

mine attend thee, and bring thee a happier issue than that which I await

in dread in this dreary solitude."

"I will go and return quickly," said Sancho; "cheer up that little heart

of yours, master mine, for at the present moment you seem to have got one

no bigger than a hazel nut; remember what they say, that a stout heart

breaks bad luck, and that where there are no fletches there are no pegs;

and moreover they say, the hare jumps up where it's not looked for. I say

this because, if we could not find my lady's palaces or castles to-night,

now that it is daylight I count upon finding them when I least expect it,

and once found, leave it to me to manage her."

"Verily, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "thou dost always bring in thy

proverbs happily, whatever we deal with; may God give me better luck in

what I am anxious about."

With this, Sancho wheeled about and gave Dapple the stick, and Don

Quixote remained behind, seated on his horse, resting in his stirrups and

leaning on the end of his lance, filled with sad and troubled

forebodings; and there we will leave him, and accompany Sancho, who went

off no less serious and troubled than he left his master; so much so,

that as soon as he had got out of the thicket, and looking round saw that

Don Quixote was not within sight, he dismounted from his ass, and seating

himself at the foot of a tree began to commune with himself, saying,

"Now, brother Sancho, let us know where your worship is going. Are you

going to look for some ass that has been lost? Not at all. Then what are

you going to look for? I am going to look for a princess, that's all; and

in her for the sun of beauty and the whole heaven at once. And where do

you expect to find all this, Sancho? Where? Why, in the great city of El

Toboso. Well, and for whom are you going to look for her? For the famous

knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, who rights wrongs, gives food to those

who thirst and drink to the hungry. That's all very well, but do you know

her house, Sancho? My master says it will be some royal palace or grand

castle. And have you ever seen her by any chance? Neither I nor my master

ever saw her. And does it strike you that it would be just and right if

the El Toboso people, finding out that you were here with the intention

of going to tamper with their princesses and trouble their ladies, were

to come and cudgel your ribs, and not leave a whole bone in you? They

would, indeed, have very good reason, if they did not see that I am under

orders, and that 'you are a messenger, my friend, no blame belongs to

you.' Don't you trust to that, Sancho, for the Manchegan folk are as

hot-tempered as they are honest, and won't put up with liberties from

anybody. By the Lord, if they get scent of you, it will be worse for you,

I promise you. Be off, you scoundrel! Let the bolt fall. Why should I go

looking for three feet on a cat, to please another man; and what is more,

when looking for Dulcinea will be looking for Marica in Ravena, or the

bachelor in Salamanca? The devil, the devil and nobody else, has mixed me

up in this business!"

Such was the soliloquy Sancho held with himself, and all the conclusion

he could come to was to say to himself again, "Well, there's remedy for

everything except death, under whose yoke we have all to pass, whether we

like it or not, when life's finished. I have seen by a thousand signs

that this master of mine is a madman fit to be tied, and for that matter,

I too, am not behind him; for I'm a greater fool than he is when I follow

him and serve him, if there's any truth in the proverb that says, 'Tell

me what company thou keepest, and I'll tell thee what thou art,' or in

that other, 'Not with whom thou art bred, but with whom thou art fed.'

Well then, if he be mad, as he is, and with a madness that mostly takes

one thing for another, and white for black, and black for white, as was

seen when he said the windmills were giants, and the monks' mules

dromedaries, flocks of sheep armies of enemies, and much more to the same

tune, it will not be very hard to make him believe that some country

girl, the first I come across here, is the lady Dulcinea; and if he does

not believe it, I'll swear it; and if he should swear, I'll swear again;

and if he persists I'll persist still more, so as, come what may, to have

my quoit always over the peg. Maybe, by holding out in this way, I may

put a stop to his sending me on messages of this kind another time; or

maybe he will think, as I suspect he will, that one of those wicked

enchanters, who he says have a spite against him, has changed her form

for the sake of doing him an ill turn and injuring him."

With this reflection Sancho made his mind easy, counting the business as

good as settled, and stayed there till the afternoon so as to make Don

Quixote think he had time enough to go to El Toboso and return; and

things turned out so luckily for him that as he got up to mount Dapple,

he spied, coming from El Toboso towards the spot where he stood, three

peasant girls on three colts, or fillies--for the author does not make

the point clear, though it is more likely they were she-asses, the usual

mount with village girls; but as it is of no great consequence, we need

not stop to prove it.

To be brief, the instant Sancho saw the peasant girls, he returned full

speed to seek his master, and found him sighing and uttering a thousand

passionate lamentations. When Don Quixote saw him he exclaimed, "What

news, Sancho, my friend? Am I to mark this day with a white stone or a

black?"

"Your worship," replied Sancho, "had better mark it with ruddle, like the

inscriptions on the walls of class rooms, that those who see it may see

it plain."

"Then thou bringest good news," said Don Quixote.

"So good," replied Sancho, "that your worship has only to spur Rocinante

and get out into the open field to see the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, who,

with two others, damsels of hers, is coming to see your worship."

"Holy God! what art thou saying, Sancho, my friend?" exclaimed Don

Quixote. "Take care thou art not deceiving me, or seeking by false joy to

cheer my real sadness."

"What could I get by deceiving your worship," returned Sancho,

"especially when it will so soon be shown whether I tell the truth or

not? Come, senor, push on, and you will see the princess our mistress

coming, robed and adorned--in fact, like what she is. Her damsels and she

are all one glow of gold, all bunches of pearls, all diamonds, all

rubies, all cloth of brocade of more than ten borders; with their hair

loose on their shoulders like so many sunbeams playing with the wind; and

moreover, they come mounted on three piebald cackneys, the finest sight

ever you saw."

"Hackneys, you mean, Sancho," said Don Quixote.

"There is not much difference between cackneys and hackneys," said

Sancho; "but no matter what they come on, there they are, the finest

ladies one could wish for, especially my lady the princess Dulcinea, who

staggers one's senses."

"Let us go, Sancho, my son," said Don Quixote, "and in guerdon of this

news, as unexpected as it is good, I bestow upon thee the best spoil I

shall win in the first adventure I may have; or if that does not satisfy

thee, I promise thee the foals I shall have this year from my three mares

that thou knowest are in foal on our village common."

"I'll take the foals," said Sancho; "for it is not quite certain that the

spoils of the first adventure will be good ones."

By this time they had cleared the wood, and saw the three village lasses

close at hand. Don Quixote looked all along the road to El Toboso, and as

he could see nobody except the three peasant girls, he was completely

puzzled, and asked Sancho if it was outside the city he had left them.

"How outside the city?" returned Sancho. "Are your worship's eyes in the

back of your head, that you can't see that they are these who are coming

here, shining like the very sun at noonday?"

"I see nothing, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "but three country girls on

three jackasses."

"Now, may God deliver me from the devil!" said Sancho, "and can it be

that your worship takes three hackneys--or whatever they're called-as

white as the driven snow, for jackasses? By the Lord, I could tear my

beard if that was the case!"

"Well, I can only say, Sancho, my friend," said Don Quixote, "that it is

as plain they are jackasses--or jennyasses--as that I am Don Quixote, and

thou Sancho Panza: at any rate, they seem to me to be so."

"Hush, senor," said Sancho, "don't talk that way, but open your eyes, and

come and pay your respects to the lady of your thoughts, who is close

upon us now;" and with these words he advanced to receive the three

village lasses, and dismounting from Dapple, caught hold of one of the

asses of the three country girls by the halter, and dropping on both

knees on the ground, he said, "Queen and princess and duchess of beauty,

may it please your haughtiness and greatness to receive into your favour

and good-will your captive knight who stands there turned into marble

stone, and quite stupefied and benumbed at finding himself in your

magnificent presence. I am Sancho Panza, his squire, and he the vagabond

knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called 'The Knight of the

Rueful Countenance.'"

Don Quixote had by this time placed himself on his knees beside Sancho,

and, with eyes starting out of his head and a puzzled gaze, was regarding

her whom Sancho called queen and lady; and as he could see nothing in her

except a village lass, and not a very well-favoured one, for she was

platter-faced and snub-nosed, he was perplexed and bewildered, and did

not venture to open his lips. The country girls, at the same time, were

astonished to see these two men, so different in appearance, on their

knees, preventing their companion from going on. She, however, who had

been stopped, breaking silence, said angrily and testily, "Get out of the

way, bad luck to you, and let us pass, for we are in a hurry."

To which Sancho returned, "Oh, princess and universal lady of El Toboso,

is not your magnanimous heart softened by seeing the pillar and prop of

knight-errantry on his knees before your sublimated presence?"

On hearing this, one of the others exclaimed, "Woa then! why, I'm rubbing

thee down, she-ass of my father-in-law! See how the lordlings come to

make game of the village girls now, as if we here could not chaff as well

as themselves. Go your own way, and let us go ours, and it will be better

for you."

"Get up, Sancho," said Don Quixote at this; "I see that fortune, 'with

evil done to me unsated still,' has taken possession of all the roads by

which any comfort may reach 'this wretched soul' that I carry in my

flesh. And thou, highest perfection of excellence that can be desired,

utmost limit of grace in human shape, sole relief of this afflicted heart

that adores thee, though the malign enchanter that persecutes me has

brought clouds and cataracts on my eyes, and to them, and them only,

transformed thy unparagoned beauty and changed thy features into those of

a poor peasant girl, if so be he has not at the same time changed mine

into those of some monster to render them loathsome in thy sight, refuse

not to look upon me with tenderness and love; seeing in this submission

that I make on my knees to thy transformed beauty the humility with which

my soul adores thee."

"Hey-day! My grandfather!" cried the girl, "much I care for your

love-making! Get out of the way and let us pass, and we'll thank you."

Sancho stood aside and let her go, very well pleased to have got so well

out of the hobble he was in. The instant the village lass who had done

duty for Dulcinea found herself free, prodding her "cackney" with a spike

she had at the end of a stick, she set off at full speed across the

field. The she-ass, however, feeling the point more acutely than usual,

began cutting such capers, that it flung the lady Dulcinea to the ground;

seeing which, Don Quixote ran to raise her up, and Sancho to fix and

girth the pack-saddle, which also had slipped under the ass's belly. The

pack-saddle being secured, as Don Quixote was about to lift up his

enchanted mistress in his arms and put her upon her beast, the lady,

getting up from the ground, saved him the trouble, for, going back a

little, she took a short run, and putting both hands on the croup of the

ass she dropped into the saddle more lightly than a falcon, and sat

astride like a man, whereat Sancho said, "Rogue! but our lady is lighter

than a lanner, and might teach the cleverest Cordovan or Mexican how to

mount; she cleared the back of the saddle in one jump, and without spurs

she is making the hackney go like a zebra; and her damsels are no way

behind her, for they all fly like the wind;" which was the truth, for as

soon as they saw Dulcinea mounted, they pushed on after her, and sped

away without looking back, for more than half a league.

Don Quixote followed them with his eyes, and when they were no longer in

sight, he turned to Sancho and said, "How now, Sancho? thou seest how I

am hated by enchanters! And see to what a length the malice and spite

they bear me go, when they seek to deprive me of the happiness it would

give me to see my lady in her own proper form. The fact is I was born to

be an example of misfortune, and the target and mark at which the arrows

of adversity are aimed and directed. Observe too, Sancho, that these

traitors were not content with changing and transforming my Dulcinea, but

they transformed and changed her into a shape as mean and ill-favoured as

that of the village girl yonder; and at the same time they robbed her of

that which is such a peculiar property of ladies of distinction, that is

to say, the sweet fragrance that comes of being always among perfumes and

flowers. For I must tell thee, Sancho, that when I approached to put

Dulcinea upon her hackney (as thou sayest it was, though to me it

appeared a she-ass), she gave me a whiff of raw garlic that made my head

reel, and poisoned my very heart."

"O scum of the earth!" cried Sancho at this, "O miserable, spiteful

enchanters! O that I could see you all strung by the gills, like sardines

on a twig! Ye know a great deal, ye can do a great deal, and ye do a

great deal more. It ought to have been enough for you, ye scoundrels, to

have changed the pearls of my lady's eyes into oak galls, and her hair of

purest gold into the bristles of a red ox's tail, and in short, all her

features from fair to foul, without meddling with her smell; for by that

we might somehow have found out what was hidden underneath that ugly

rind; though, to tell the truth, I never perceived her ugliness, but only

her beauty, which was raised to the highest pitch of perfection by a mole

she had on her right lip, like a moustache, with seven or eight red hairs

like threads of gold, and more than a palm long."

"From the correspondence which exists between those of the face and those

of the body," said Don Quixote, "Dulcinea must have another mole

resembling that on the thick of the thigh on that side on which she has

the one on her ace; but hairs of the length thou hast mentioned are very

long for moles."

"Well, all I can say is there they were as plain as could be," replied

Sancho.

"I believe it, my friend," returned Don Quixote; "for nature bestowed

nothing on Dulcinea that was not perfect and well-finished; and so, if

she had a hundred moles like the one thou hast described, in her they

would not be moles, but moons and shining stars. But tell me, Sancho,

that which seemed to me to be a pack-saddle as thou wert fixing it, was

it a flat-saddle or a side-saddle?"

"It was neither," replied Sancho, "but a jineta saddle, with a field

covering worth half a kingdom, so rich is it."

"And that I could not see all this, Sancho!" said Don Quixote; "once more

I say, and will say a thousand times, I am the most unfortunate of men."

Sancho, the rogue, had enough to do to hide his laughter, at hearing the

simplicity of the master he had so nicely befooled. At length, after a

good deal more conversation had passed between them, they remounted their

beasts, and followed the road to Saragossa, which they expected to reach

in time to take part in a certain grand festival which is held every year

in that illustrious city; but before they got there things happened to

them, so many, so important, and so strange, that they deserve to be

recorded and read, as will be seen farther on.

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