Don Quixote 1.59

CHAPTER LIX

WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE THING, WHICH MAY BE REGARDED AS AN
ADVENTURE, THAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE

A clear limpid spring which they discovered in a cool grove relieved
Don Quixote and Sancho of the dust and fatigue due to the unpolite
behaviour of the bulls, and by the side of this, having turned
Dapple and Rocinante loose without headstall or bridle, the forlorn
pair, master and man, seated themselves. Sancho had recourse to the
larder of his alforjas and took out of them what he called the prog;
Don Quixote rinsed his mouth and bathed his face, by which cooling
process his flagging energies were revived. Out of pure vexation he
remained without eating, and out of pure politeness Sancho did not
venture to touch a morsel of what was before him, but waited for his
master to act as taster. Seeing, however, that, absorbed in thought,
he was forgetting to carry the bread to his mouth, he said never a
word, and trampling every sort of good breeding under foot, began to
stow away in his paunch the bread and cheese that came to his hand.

"Eat, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote; "support life, which is
of more consequence to thee than to me, and leave me to die under
the pain of my thoughts and pressure of my misfortunes. I was born,
Sancho, to live dying, and thou to die eating; and to prove the
truth of what I say, look at me, printed in histories, famed in
arms, courteous in behaviour, honoured by princes, courted by maidens;
and after all, when I looked forward to palms, triumphs, and crowns,
won and earned by my valiant deeds, I have this morning seen myself
trampled on, kicked, and crushed by the feet of unclean and filthy
animals. This thought blunts my teeth, paralyses my jaws, cramps my
hands, and robs me of all appetite for food; so much so that I have
a mind to let myself die of hunger, the cruelest death of all deaths."

"So then," said Sancho, munching hard all the time, "your worship
does not agree with the proverb that says, 'Let Martha die, but let
her die with a full belly.' I, at any rate, have no mind to kill
myself; so far from that, I mean to do as the cobbler does, who
stretches the leather with his teeth until he makes it reach as far as
he wants. I'll stretch out my life by eating until it reaches the
end heaven has fixed for it; and let me tell you, senor, there's no
greater folly than to think of dying of despair as your worship
does; take my advice, and after eating lie down and sleep a bit on
this green grass-mattress, and you will see that when you awake you'll
feel something better."

Don Quixote did as he recommended, for it struck him that Sancho's
reasoning was more like a philosopher's than a blockhead's, and said
he, "Sancho, if thou wilt do for me what I am going to tell thee my
ease of mind would be more assured and my heaviness of heart not so
great; and it is this; to go aside a little while I am sleeping in
accordance with thy advice, and, making bare thy carcase to the air,
to give thyself three or four hundred lashes with Rocinante's reins,
on account of the three thousand and odd thou art to give thyself
for the disenchantment of Dulcinea; for it is a great pity that the
poor lady should be left enchanted through thy carelessness and
negligence."

"There is a good deal to be said on that point," said Sancho; "let
us both go to sleep now, and after that, God has decreed what will
happen. Let me tell your worship that for a man to whip himself in
cold blood is a hard thing, especially if the stripes fall upon an
ill-nourished and worse-fed body. Let my lady Dulcinea have
patience, and when she is least expecting it, she will see me made a
riddle of with whipping, and 'until death it's all life;' I mean
that I have still life in me, and the desire to make good what I
have promised."

Don Quixote thanked him, and ate a little, and Sancho a good deal,
and then they both lay down to sleep, leaving those two inseparable
friends and comrades, Rocinante and Dapple, to their own devices and
to feed unrestrained upon the abundant grass with which the meadow was
furnished. They woke up rather late, mounted once more and resumed
their journey, pushing on to reach an inn which was in sight,
apparently a league off. I say an inn, because Don Quixote called it
so, contrary to his usual practice of calling all inns castles. They
reached it, and asked the landlord if they could put up there. He said
yes, with as much comfort and as good fare as they could find in
Saragossa. They dismounted, and Sancho stowed away his larder in a
room of which the landlord gave him the key. He took the beasts to the
stable, fed them, and came back to see what orders Don Quixote, who
was seated on a bench at the door, had for him, giving special
thanks to heaven that this inn had not been taken for a castle by
his master. Supper-time came, and they repaired to their room, and
Sancho asked the landlord what he had to give them for supper. To this
the landlord replied that his mouth should be the measure; he had only
to ask what he would; for that inn was provided with the birds of
the air and the fowls of the earth and the fish of the sea.

"There's no need of all that," said Sancho; "if they'll roast us a
couple of chickens we'll be satisfied, for my master is delicate and
eats little, and I'm not over and above gluttonous."

The landlord replied he had no chickens, for the kites had stolen
them.

"Well then," said Sancho, "let senor landlord tell them to roast a
pullet, so that it is a tender one."

"Pullet! My father!" said the landlord; "indeed and in truth it's
only yesterday I sent over fifty to the city to sell; but saving
pullets ask what you will."

"In that case," said Sancho, "you will not be without veal or kid."

"Just now," said the landlord, "there's none in the house, for
it's all finished; but next week there will he enough and to spare."

"Much good that does us," said Sancho; "I'll lay a bet that all
these short-comings are going to wind up in plenty of bacon and eggs."

"By God," said the landlord, "my guest's wits must he precious dull;
I tell him I have neither pullets nor hens, and he wants me to have
eggs! Talk of other dainties, if you please, and don't ask for hens
again."

"Body o' me!" said Sancho, "let's settle the matter; say at once
what you have got, and let us have no more words about it."

"In truth and earnest, senor guest," said the landlord, "all I
have is a couple of cow-heels like calves' feet, or a couple of
calves' feet like cowheels; they are boiled with chick-peas, onions,
and bacon, and at this moment they are crying 'Come eat me, come eat
me."

"I mark them for mine on the spot," said Sancho; "let nobody touch
them; I'll pay better for them than anyone else, for I could not
wish for anything more to my taste; and I don't care a pin whether
they are feet or heels."

"Nobody shall touch them," said the landlord; "for the other
guests I have, being persons of high quality, bring their own cook and
caterer and larder with them."

"If you come to people of quality," said Sancho, "there's nobody
more so than my master; but the calling he follows does not allow of
larders or store-rooms; we lay ourselves down in the middle of a
meadow, and fill ourselves with acorns or medlars."

Here ended Sancho's conversation with the landlord, Sancho not
caring to carry it any farther by answering him; for he had already
asked him what calling or what profession it was his master was of.

Supper-time having come, then, Don Quixote betook himself to his
room, the landlord brought in the stew-pan just as it was, and he
sat himself down to sup very resolutely. It seems that in another
room, which was next to Don Quixote's, with nothing but a thin
partition to separate it, he overheard these words, "As you live,
Senor Don Jeronimo, while they are bringing supper, let us read
another chapter of the Second Part of 'Don Quixote of La Mancha.'"

The instant Don Quixote heard his own name be started to his feet
and listened with open ears to catch what they said about him, and
heard the Don Jeronimo who had been addressed say in reply, "Why would
you have us read that absurd stuff, Don Juan, when it is impossible
for anyone who has read the First Part of the history of 'Don
Quixote of La Mancha' to take any pleasure in reading this Second
Part?"

"For all that," said he who was addressed as Don Juan, "we shall
do well to read it, for there is no book so bad but it has something
good in it. What displeases me most in it is that it represents Don
Quixote as now cured of his love for Dulcinea del Toboso."

On hearing this Don Quixote, full of wrath and indignation, lifted
up his voice and said, "Whoever he may be who says that Don Quixote of
La Mancha has forgotten or can forget Dulcinea del Toboso, I will
teach him with equal arms that what he says is very far from the
truth; for neither can the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso be
forgotten, nor can forgetfulness have a place in Don Quixote; his
motto is constancy, and his profession to maintain the same with his
life and never wrong it."

"Who is this that answers us?" said they in the next room.

"Who should it be," said Sancho, "but Don Quixote of La Mancha
himself, who will make good all he has said and all he will say; for
pledges don't trouble a good payer."

Sancho had hardly uttered these words when two gentlemen, for such
they seemed to be, entered the room, and one of them, throwing his
arms round Don Quixote's neck, said to him, "Your appearance cannot
leave any question as to your name, nor can your name fail to identify
your appearance; unquestionably, senor, you are the real Don Quixote
of La Mancha, cynosure and morning star of knight-errantry, despite
and in defiance of him who has sought to usurp your name and bring
to naught your achievements, as the author of this book which I here
present to you has done;" and with this he put a book which his
companion carried into the hands of Don Quixote, who took it, and
without replying began to run his eye over it; but he presently
returned it saying, "In the little I have seen I have discovered three
things in this author that deserve to be censured. The first is some
words that I have read in the preface; the next that the language is
Aragonese, for sometimes he writes without articles; and the third,
which above all stamps him as ignorant, is that he goes wrong and
departs from the truth in the most important part of the history,
for here he says that my squire Sancho Panza's wife is called Mari
Gutierrez, when she is called nothing of the sort, but Teresa Panza;
and when a man errs on such an important point as this there is good
reason to fear that he is in error on every other point in the
history."

"A nice sort of historian, indeed!" exclaimed Sancho at this; "he
must know a deal about our affairs when he calls my wife Teresa Panza,
Mari Gutierrez; take the book again, senor, and see if I am in it
and if he has changed my name."

"From your talk, friend," said Don Jeronimo, "no doubt you are
Sancho Panza, Senor Don Quixote's squire."

"Yes, I am," said Sancho; "and I'm proud of it."

"Faith, then," said the gentleman, "this new author does not
handle you with the decency that displays itself in your person; he
makes you out a heavy feeder and a fool, and not in the least droll,
and a very different being from the Sancho described in the First Part
of your master's history."

"God forgive him," said Sancho; "he might have left me in my
corner without troubling his head about me; 'let him who knows how
ring the bells; 'Saint Peter is very well in Rome.'"

The two gentlemen pressed Don Quixote to come into their room and
have supper with them, as they knew very well there was nothing in
that inn fit for one of his sort. Don Quixote, who was always
polite, yielded to their request and supped with them. Sancho stayed
behind with the stew. and invested with plenary delegated authority
seated himself at the head of the table, and the landlord sat down
with him, for he was no less fond of cow-heel and calves' feet than
Sancho was.

While at supper Don Juan asked Don Quixote what news he had of the
lady Dulcinea del Toboso, was she married, had she been brought to
bed, or was she with child, or did she in maidenhood, still preserving
her modesty and delicacy, cherish the remembrance of the tender
passion of Senor Don Quixote?

To this he replied, "Dulcinea is a maiden still, and my passion more
firmly rooted than ever, our intercourse unsatisfactory as before, and
her beauty transformed into that of a foul country wench;" and then he
proceeded to give them a full and particular account of the
enchantment of Dulcinea, and of what had happened him in the cave of
Montesinos, together with what the sage Merlin had prescribed for
her disenchantment, namely the scourging of Sancho.

Exceedingly great was the amusement the two gentlemen derived from
hearing Don Quixote recount the strange incidents of his history;
and if they were amazed by his absurdities they were equally amazed by
the elegant style in which he delivered them. On the one hand they
regarded him as a man of wit and sense, and on the other he seemed
to them a maundering blockhead, and they could not make up their minds
whereabouts between wisdom and folly they ought to place him.

Sancho having finished his supper, and left the landlord in the X
condition, repaired to the room where his master was, and as he came
in said, "May I die, sirs, if the author of this book your worships
have got has any mind that we should agree; as he calls me glutton
(according to what your worships say) I wish he may not call me
drunkard too."

"But he does," said Don Jeronimo; "I cannot remember, however, in
what way, though I know his words are offensive, and what is more,
lying, as I can see plainly by the physiognomy of the worthy Sancho
before me."

"Believe me," said Sancho, "the Sancho and the Don Quixote of this
history must be different persons from those that appear in the one
Cide Hamete Benengeli wrote, who are ourselves; my master valiant,
wise, and true in love, and I simple, droll, and neither glutton nor
drunkard."

"I believe it," said Don Juan; "and were it possible, an order
should be issued that no one should have the presumption to deal
with anything relating to Don Quixote, save his original author Cide
Hamete; just as Alexander commanded that no one should presume to
paint his portrait save Apelles."

"Let him who will paint me," said Don Quixote; "but let him not
abuse me; for patience will often break down when they heap insults
upon it."

"None can be offered to Senor Don Quixote," said Don Juan, "that
he himself will not be able to avenge, if he does not ward it off with
the shield of his patience, which, I take it, is great and strong."

A considerable portion of the night passed in conversation of this
sort, and though Don Juan wished Don Quixote to read more of the
book to see what it was all about, he was not to be prevailed upon,
saying that he treated it as read and pronounced it utterly silly;
and, if by any chance it should come to its author's ears that he
had it in his hand, he did not want him to flatter himself with the
idea that he had read it; for our thoughts, and still more our eyes,
should keep themselves aloof from what is obscene and filthy.

They asked him whither he meant to direct his steps. He replied,
to Saragossa, to take part in the harness jousts which were held in
that city every year. Don Juan told him that the new history described
how Don Quixote, let him be who he might, took part there in a tilting
at the ring, utterly devoid of invention, poor in mottoes, very poor
in costume, though rich in sillinesses.

"For that very reason," said Don Quixote, "I will not set foot in
Saragossa; and by that means I shall expose to the world the lie of
this new history writer, and people will see that I am not the Don
Quixote he speaks of."

"You will do quite right," said Don Jeronimo; "and there are other
jousts at Barcelona in which Senor Don Quixote may display his
prowess."

"That is what I mean to do," said Don Quixote; "and as it is now
time, I pray your worships to give me leave to retire to bed, and to
place and retain me among the number of your greatest friends and
servants."

"And me too," said Sancho; "maybe I'll be good for something."

With this they exchanged farewells, and Don Quixote and Sancho
retired to their room, leaving Don Juan and Don Jeronimo amazed to see
the medley he made of his good sense and his craziness; and they
felt thoroughly convinced that these, and not those their Aragonese
author described, were the genuine Don Quixote and Sancho. Don Quixote
rose betimes, and bade adieu to his hosts by knocking at the partition
of the other room. Sancho paid the landlord magnificently, and
recommended him either to say less about the providing of his inn or
to keep it better provided.

Don Quixote 1.58

CHAPTER LVIII

WHICH TELLS HOW ADVENTURES CAME CROWDING ON DON QUIXOTE IN SUCH
NUMBERS THAT THEY GAVE ONE ANOTHER NO BREATHING-TIME

When Don Quixote saw himself in open country, free, and relieved
from the attentions of Altisidora, he felt at his ease, and in fresh
spirits to take up the pursuit of chivalry once more; and turning to
Sancho he said, "Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts
that heaven has bestowed upon men; no treasures that the earth holds
buried or the sea conceals can compare with it; for freedom, as for
honour, life may and should be ventured; and on the other hand,
captivity is the greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man. I
say this, Sancho, because thou hast seen the good cheer, the abundance
we have enjoyed in this castle we are leaving; well then, amid those
dainty banquets and snow-cooled beverages I felt as though I were
undergoing the straits of hunger, because I did not enjoy them with
the same freedom as if they had been mine own; for the sense of
being under an obligation to return benefits and favours received is a
restraint that checks the independence of the spirit. Happy he, to
whom heaven has given a piece of bread for which he is not bound to
give thanks to any but heaven itself!"

"For all your worship says," said Sancho, "it is not becoming that
there should he no thanks on our part for two hundred gold crowns that
the duke's majordomo has given me in a little purse which I carry next
my heart, like a warming plaster or comforter, to meet any chance
calls; for we shan't always find castles where they'll entertain us;
now and then we may light upon roadside inns where they'll cudgel us."

In conversation of this sort the knight and squire errant were
pursuing their journey, when, after they had gone a little more than
half a league, they perceived some dozen men dressed like labourers
stretched upon their cloaks on the grass of a green meadow eating
their dinner. They had beside them what seemed to be white sheets
concealing some objects under them, standing upright or lying flat,
and arranged at intervals. Don Quixote approached the diners, and,
saluting them courteously first, he asked them what it was those
cloths covered. "Senor," answered one of the party, "under these
cloths are some images carved in relief intended for a retablo we
are putting up in our village; we carry them covered up that they
may not be soiled, and on our shoulders that they may not be broken."

"With your good leave," said Don Quixote, "I should like to see
them; for images that are carried so carefully no doubt must be fine
ones."

"I should think they were!" said the other; "let the money they cost
speak for that; for as a matter of fact there is not one of them
that does not stand us in more than fifty ducats; and that your
worship may judge; wait a moment, and you shall see with your own
eyes;" and getting up from his dinner he went and uncovered the
first image, which proved to be one of Saint George on horseback
with a serpent writhing at his feet and the lance thrust down its
throat with all that fierceness that is usually depicted. The whole
group was one blaze of gold, as the saying is. On seeing it Don
Quixote said, "That knight was one of the best knights-errant the army
of heaven ever owned; he was called Don Saint George, and he was
moreover a defender of maidens. Let us see this next one."

The man uncovered it, and it was seen to be that of Saint Martin
on his horse, dividing his cloak with the beggar. The instant Don
Quixote saw it he said, "This knight too was one of the Christian
adventurers, but I believe he was generous rather than valiant, as
thou mayest perceive, Sancho, by his dividing his cloak with the
beggar and giving him half of it; no doubt it was winter at the
time, for otherwise he would have given him the whole of it, so
charitable was he."

"It was not that, most likely," said Sancho, "but that he held
with the proverb that says, 'For giving and keeping there's need of
brains.'"

Don Quixote laughed, and asked them to take off the next cloth,
underneath which was seen the image of the patron saint of the
Spains seated on horseback, his sword stained with blood, trampling on
Moors and treading heads underfoot; and on seeing it Don Quixote
exclaimed, "Ay, this is a knight, and of the squadrons of Christ! This
one is called Don Saint James the Moorslayer, one of the bravest
saints and knights the world ever had or heaven has now."

They then raised another cloth which it appeared covered Saint
Paul falling from his horse, with all the details that are usually
given in representations of his conversion. When Don Quixote saw it,
rendered in such lifelike style that one would have said Christ was
speaking and Paul answering, "This," he said, "was in his time the
greatest enemy that the Church of God our Lord had, and the greatest
champion it will ever have; a knight-errant in life, a steadfast saint
in death, an untiring labourer in the Lord's vineyard, a teacher of
the Gentiles, whose school was heaven, and whose instructor and master
was Jesus Christ himself."

There were no more images, so Don Quixote bade them cover them up
again, and said to those who had brought them, "I take it as a happy
omen, brothers, to have seen what I have; for these saints and knights
were of the same profession as myself, which is the calling of arms;
only there is this difference between them and me, that they were
saints, and fought with divine weapons, and I am a sinner and fight
with human ones. They won heaven by force of arms, for heaven
suffereth violence; and I, so far, know not what I have won by dint of
my sufferings; but if my Dulcinea del Toboso were to be released
from hers, perhaps with mended fortunes and a mind restored to
itself I might direct my steps in a better path than I am following at
present."

"May God hear and sin be deaf," said Sancho to this.

The men were filled with wonder, as well at the figure as at the
words of Don Quixote, though they did not understand one half of
what he meant by them. They finished their dinner, took their images
on their backs, and bidding farewell to Don Quixote resumed their
journey.

Sancho was amazed afresh at the extent of his master's knowledge, as
much as if he had never known him, for it seemed to him that there was
no story or event in the world that he had not at his fingers' ends
and fixed in his memory, and he said to him, "In truth, master mine,
if this that has happened to us to-day is to be called an adventure,
it has been one of the sweetest and pleasantest that have befallen
us in the whole course of our travels; we have come out of it
unbelaboured and undismayed, neither have we drawn sword nor have we
smitten the earth with our bodies, nor have we been left famishing;
blessed be God that he has let me see such a thing with my own eyes!"

"Thou sayest well, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "but remember all
times are not alike nor do they always run the same way; and these
things the vulgar commonly call omens, which are not based upon any
natural reason, will by him who is wise be esteemed and reckoned happy
accidents merely. One of these believers in omens will get up of a
morning, leave his house, and meet a friar of the order of the blessed
Saint Francis, and, as if he had met a griffin, he will turn about and
go home. With another Mendoza the salt is spilt on his table, and
gloom is spilt over his heart, as if nature was obliged to give
warning of coming misfortunes by means of such trivial things as
these. The wise man and the Christian should not trifle with what it
may please heaven to do. Scipio on coming to Africa stumbled as he
leaped on shore; his soldiers took it as a bad omen; but he,
clasping the soil with his arms, exclaimed, 'Thou canst not escape me,
Africa, for I hold thee tight between my arms.' Thus, Sancho,
meeting those images has been to me a most happy occurrence."

"I can well believe it," said Sancho; "but I wish your worship would
tell me what is the reason that the Spaniards, when they are about
to give battle, in calling on that Saint James the Moorslayer, say
'Santiago and close Spain!' Is Spain, then, open, so that it is
needful to close it; or what is the meaning of this form?"

"Thou art very simple, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "God, look you,
gave that great knight of the Red Cross to Spain as her patron saint
and protector, especially in those hard struggles the Spaniards had
with the Moors; and therefore they invoke and call upon him as their
defender in all their battles; and in these he has been many a time
seen beating down, trampling under foot, destroying and slaughtering
the Hagarene squadrons in the sight of all; of which fact I could give
thee many examples recorded in truthful Spanish histories."

Sancho changed the subject, and said to his master, "I marvel,
senor, at the boldness of Altisidora, the duchess's handmaid; he
whom they call Love must have cruelly pierced and wounded her; they
say he is a little blind urchin who, though blear-eyed, or more
properly speaking sightless, if he aims at a heart, be it ever so
small, hits it and pierces it through and through with his arrows. I
have heard it said too that the arrows of Love are blunted and
robbed of their points by maidenly modesty and reserve; but with
this Altisidora it seems they are sharpened rather than blunted."

"Bear in mind, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that love is influenced
by no consideration, recognises no restraints of reason, and is of the
same nature as death, that assails alike the lofty palaces of kings
and the humble cabins of shepherds; and when it takes entire
possession of a heart, the first thing it does is to banish fear and
shame from it; and so without shame Altisidora declared her passion,
which excited in my mind embarrassment rather than commiseration."

"Notable cruelty!" exclaimed Sancho; "unheard-of ingratitude! I
can only say for myself that the very smallest loving word of hers
would have subdued me and made a slave of me. The devil! What a
heart of marble, what bowels of brass, what a soul of mortar! But I
can't imagine what it is that this damsel saw in your worship that
could have conquered and captivated her so. What gallant figure was
it, what bold bearing, what sprightly grace, what comeliness of
feature, which of these things by itself, or what all together,
could have made her fall in love with you? For indeed and in truth
many a time I stop to look at your worship from the sole of your
foot to the topmost hair of your head, and I see more to frighten
one than to make one fall in love; moreover I have heard say that
beauty is the first and main thing that excites love, and as your
worship has none at all, I don't know what the poor creature fell in
love with."

"Recollect, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "there are two sorts of
beauty, one of the mind, the other of the body; that of the mind
displays and exhibits itself in intelligence, in modesty, in
honourable conduct, in generosity, in good breeding; and all these
qualities are possible and may exist in an ugly man; and when it is
this sort of beauty and not that of the body that is the attraction,
love is apt to spring up suddenly and violently. I, Sancho, perceive
clearly enough that I am not beautiful, but at the same time I know
I am not hideous; and it is enough for an honest man not to be a
monster to he an object of love, if only he possesses the endowments
of mind I have mentioned."

While engaged in this discourse they were making their way through a
wood that lay beyond the road, when suddenly, without expecting
anything of the kind, Don Quixote found himself caught in some nets of
green cord stretched from one tree to another; and unable to
conceive what it could be, he said to Sancho, "Sancho, it strikes me
this affair of these nets will prove one of the strangest adventures
imaginable. May I die if the enchanters that persecute me are not
trying to entangle me in them and delay my journey, by way of
revenge for my obduracy towards Altisidora. Well then let me tell them
that if these nets, instead of being green cord, were made of the
hardest diamonds, or stronger than that wherewith the jealous god of
blacksmiths enmeshed Venus and Mars, I would break them as easily as
if they were made of rushes or cotton threads." But just as he was
about to press forward and break through all, suddenly from among some
trees two shepherdesses of surpassing beauty presented themselves to
his sight- or at least damsels dressed like shepherdesses, save that
their jerkins and sayas were of fine brocade; that is to say, the
sayas were rich farthingales of gold embroidered tabby. Their hair,
that in its golden brightness vied with the beams of the sun itself,
fell loose upon their shoulders and was crowned with garlands twined
with green laurel and red everlasting; and their years to all
appearance were not under fifteen nor above eighteen. Such was the
spectacle that filled Sancho with amazement, fascinated Don Quixote,
made the sun halt in his course to behold them, and held all four in a
strange silence. One of the shepherdesses, at length, was the first to
speak and said to Don Quixote, "Hold, sir knight, and do not break
these nets; for they are not spread here to do you any harm, but
only for our amusement; and as I know you will ask why they have
been put up, and who we are, I will tell you in a few words. In a
village some two leagues from this, where there are many people of
quality and rich gentlefolk, it was agreed upon by a number of friends
and relations to come with their wives, sons and daughters,
neighbours, friends and kinsmen, and make holiday in this spot,
which is one of the pleasantest in the whole neighbourhood, setting up
a new pastoral Arcadia among ourselves, we maidens dressing
ourselves as shepherdesses and the youths as shepherds. We have
prepared two eclogues, one by the famous poet Garcilasso, the other by
the most excellent Camoens, in its own Portuguese tongue, but we
have not as yet acted them. Yesterday was the first day of our
coming here; we have a few of what they say are called field-tents
pitched among the trees on the bank of an ample brook that
fertilises all these meadows; last night we spread these nets in the
trees here to snare the silly little birds that startled by the
noise we make may fly into them. If you please to he our guest, senor,
you will be welcomed heartily and courteously, for here just now
neither care nor sorrow shall enter."

She held her peace and said no more, and Don Quixote made answer,
"Of a truth, fairest lady, Actaeon when he unexpectedly beheld Diana
bathing in the stream could not have been more fascinated and
wonderstruck than I at the sight of your beauty. I commend your mode
of entertainment, and thank you for the kindness of your invitation;
and if I can serve you, you may command me with full confidence of
being obeyed, for my profession is none other than to show myself
grateful, and ready to serve persons of all conditions, but especially
persons of quality such as your appearance indicates; and if,
instead of taking up, as they probably do, but a small space, these
nets took up the whole surface of the globe, I would seek out new
worlds through which to pass, so as not to break them; and that ye may
give some degree of credence to this exaggerated language of mine,
know that it is no less than Don Quixote of La Mancha that makes
this declaration to you, if indeed it be that such a name has
reached your ears."

"Ah! friend of my soul," instantly exclaimed the other
shepherdess, "what great good fortune has befallen us! Seest thou this
gentleman we have before us? Well then let me tell thee he is the most
valiant and the most devoted and the most courteous gentleman in all
the world, unless a history of his achievements that has been
printed and I have read is telling lies and deceiving us. I will lay a
wager that this good fellow who is with him is one Sancho Panza his
squire, whose drolleries none can equal."

"That's true," said Sancho; "I am that same droll and squire you
speak of, and this gentleman is my master Don Quixote of La Mancha,
the same that's in the history and that they talk about."

"Oh, my friend," said the other, "let us entreat him to stay; for it
will give our fathers and brothers infinite pleasure; I too have heard
just what thou hast told me of the valour of the one and the
drolleries of the other; and what is more, of him they say that he
is the most constant and loyal lover that was ever heard of, and
that his lady is one Dulcinea del Toboso, to whom all over Spain the
palm of beauty is awarded."

"And justly awarded," said Don Quixote, "unless, indeed, your
unequalled beauty makes it a matter of doubt. But spare yourselves the
trouble, ladies, of pressing me to stay, for the urgent calls of my
profession do not allow me to take rest under any circumstances."

At this instant there came up to the spot where the four stood a
brother of one of the two shepherdesses, like them in shepherd
costume, and as richly and gaily dressed as they were. They told him
that their companion was the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the
other Sancho his squire, of whom he knew already from having read
their history. The gay shepherd offered him his services and begged
that he would accompany him to their tents, and Don Quixote had to
give way and comply. And now the gave was started, and the nets were
filled with a variety of birds that deceived by the colour fell into
the danger they were flying from. Upwards of thirty persons, all gaily
attired as shepherds and shepherdesses, assembled on the spot, and
were at once informed who Don Quixote and his squire were, whereat
they were not a little delighted, as they knew of him already
through his history. They repaired to the tents, where they found
tables laid out, and choicely, plentifully, and neatly furnished. They
treated Don Quixote as a person of distinction, giving him the place
of honour, and all observed him, and were full of astonishment at
the spectacle. At last the cloth being removed, Don Quixote with great
composure lifted up his voice and said:

"One of the greatest sins that men are guilty of is- some will say
pride- but I say ingratitude, going by the common saying that hell
is full of ingrates. This sin, so far as it has lain in my power, I
have endeavoured to avoid ever since I have enjoyed the faculty of
reason; and if I am unable to requite good deeds that have been done
me by other deeds, I substitute the desire to do so; and if that be
not enough I make them known publicly; for he who declares and makes
known the good deeds done to him would repay them by others if it were
in his power, and for the most part those who receive are the
inferiors of those who give. Thus, God is superior to all because he
is the supreme giver, and the offerings of man fall short by an
infinite distance of being a full return for the gifts of God; but
gratitude in some degree makes up for this deficiency and shortcoming.
I therefore, grateful for the favour that has been extended to me
here, and unable to make a return in the same measure, restricted as I
am by the narrow limits of my power, offer what I can and what I
have to offer in my own way; and so I declare that for two full days I
will maintain in the middle of this highway leading to Saragossa, that
these ladies disguised as shepherdesses, who are here present, are the
fairest and most courteous maidens in the world, excepting only the
peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole mistress of my thoughts, be it said
without offence to those who hear me, ladies and gentlemen."

On hearing this Sancho, who had been listening with great attention,
cried out in a loud voice, "Is it possible there is anyone in the
world who will dare to say and swear that this master of mine is a
madman? Say, gentlemen shepherds, is there a village priest, be he
ever so wise or learned, who could say what my master has said; or
is there knight-errant, whatever renown he may have as a man of
valour, that could offer what my master has offered now?"

Don Quixote turned upon Sancho, and with a countenance glowing
with anger said to him, "Is it possible, Sancho, there is anyone in
the whole world who will say thou art not a fool, with a lining to
match, and I know not what trimmings of impertinence and roguery?
Who asked thee to meddle in my affairs, or to inquire whether I am a
wise man or a blockhead? Hold thy peace; answer me not a word;
saddle Rocinante if he be unsaddled; and let us go to put my offer
into execution; for with the right that I have on my side thou
mayest reckon as vanquished all who shall venture to question it;" and
in a great rage, and showing his anger plainly, he rose from his seat,
leaving the company lost in wonder, and making them feel doubtful
whether they ought to regard him as a madman or a rational being. In
the end, though they sought to dissuade him from involving himself
in such a challenge, assuring him they admitted his gratitude as fully
established, and needed no fresh proofs to be convinced of his valiant
spirit, as those related in the history of his exploits were
sufficient, still Don Quixote persisted in his resolve; and mounted on
Rocinante, bracing his buckler on his arm and grasping his lance, he
posted himself in the middle of a high road that was not far from
the green meadow. Sancho followed on Dapple, together with all the
members of the pastoral gathering, eager to see what would be the
upshot of his vainglorious and extraordinary proposal.

Don Quixote, then, having, as has been said, planted himself in
the middle of the road, made the welkin ring with words to this
effect: "Ho ye travellers and wayfarers, knights, squires, folk on
foot or on horseback, who pass this way or shall pass in the course of
the next two days! Know that Don Quixote of La Mancha,
knight-errant, is posted here to maintain by arms that the beauty
and courtesy enshrined in the nymphs that dwell in these meadows and
groves surpass all upon earth, putting aside the lady of my heart,
Dulcinea del Toboso. Wherefore, let him who is of the opposite opinion
come on, for here I await him."

Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they fell unheard by any
adventurer; but fate, that was guiding affairs for him from better
to better, so ordered it that shortly afterwards there appeared on the
road a crowd of men on horseback, many of them with lances in their
hands, all riding in a compact body and in great haste. No sooner
had those who were with Don Quixote seen them than they turned about
and withdrew to some distance from the road, for they knew that if
they stayed some harm might come to them; but Don Quixote with
intrepid heart stood his ground, and Sancho Panza shielded himself
with Rocinante's hind-quarters. The troop of lancers came up, and
one of them who was in advance began shouting to Don Quixote, "Get out
of the way, you son of the devil, or these bulls will knock you to
pieces!"

"Rabble!" returned Don Quixote, "I care nothing for bulls, be they
the fiercest Jarama breeds on its banks. Confess at once,
scoundrels, that what I have declared is true; else ye have to deal
with me in combat."

The herdsman had no time to reply, nor Don Quixote to get out of the
way even if he wished; and so the drove of fierce bulls and tame
bullocks, together with the crowd of herdsmen and others who were
taking them to be penned up in a village where they were to be run the
next day, passed over Don Quixote and over Sancho, Rocinante and
Dapple, hurling them all to the earth and rolling them over on the
ground. Sancho was left crushed, Don Quixote scared, Dapple belaboured
and Rocinante in no very sound condition. They all got up, however, at
length, and Don Quixote in great haste, stumbling here and falling
there, started off running after the drove, shouting out, "Hold! stay!
ye rascally rabble, a single knight awaits you, and he is not of the
temper or opinion of those who say, 'For a flying enemy make a
bridge of silver.'" The retreating party in their haste, however,
did not stop for that, or heed his menaces any more than last year's
clouds. Weariness brought Don Quixote to a halt, and more enraged than
avenged he sat down on the road to wait until Sancho, Rocinante and
Dapple came up. When they reached him master and man mounted once
more, and without going back to bid farewell to the mock or
imitation Arcadia, and more in humiliation than contentment, they
continued their journey.

Don Quixote 1.57

CHAPTER LVII

WHICH TREATS OF HOW DON QUIXOTE TOOK LEAVE OF THE DUKE, AND OF
WHAT FOLLOWED WITH THE WITTY AND IMPUDENT ALTISIDORA, ONE OF THE
DUCHESS'S DAMSELS

Don Quixote now felt it right to quit a life of such idleness as
he was leading in the castle; for he fancied that he was making
himself sorely missed by suffering himself to remain shut up and
inactive amid the countless luxuries and enjoyments his hosts lavished
upon him as a knight. and he felt too that he would have to render a
strict account to heaven of that indolence and seclusion; and so one
day he asked the duke and duchess to grant him permission to take
his departure. They gave it, showing at the same time that they were
very sorry he was leaving them. The duchess gave his wife's letters to
Sancho Panza, who shed tears over them, saying, "Who would have
thought that such grand hopes as the news of my government bred in
my wife Teresa Panza's breast would end in my going back now to the
vagabond adventures of my master Don Quixote of La Mancha? Still I'm
glad to see my Teresa behaved as she ought in sending the acorns,
for if she had not sent them I'd have been sorry, and she'd have shown
herself ungrateful. It is a comfort to me that they can't call that
present a bribe; for I had got the government already when she sent
them, and it's but reasonable that those who have had a good turn done
them should show their gratitude, if it's only with a trifle. After
all I went into the government naked, and I come out of it naked; so I
can say with a safe conscience -and that's no small matter- 'naked I
was born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain.'"

Thus did Sancho soliloquise on the day of their departure, as Don
Quixote, who had the night before taken leave of the duke and duchess,
coming out made his appearance at an early hour in full armour in
the courtyard of the castle. The whole household of the castle were
watching him from the corridors, and the duke and duchess, too, came
out to see him. Sancho was mounted on his Dapple, with his alforjas,
valise, and proven. supremely happy because the duke's majordomo,
the same that had acted the part of the Trifaldi, had given him a
little purse with two hundred gold crowns to meet the necessary
expenses of the road, but of this Don Quixote knew nothing as yet.
While all were, as has been said, observing him, suddenly from among
the duennas and handmaidens the impudent and witty Altisidora lifted
up her voice and said in pathetic tones:

Give ear, cruel knight;
Draw rein; where's the need
Of spurring the flanks
Of that ill-broken steed?
From what art thou flying?
No dragon I am,
Not even a sheep,
But a tender young lamb.
Thou hast jilted a maiden
As fair to behold
As nymph of Diana
Or Venus of old.

Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?

Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!

In thy claws, ruthless robber,
Thou bearest away
The heart of a meek
Loving maid for thy prey,
Three kerchiefs thou stealest,
And garters a pair,
From legs than the whitest
Of marble more fair;
And the sighs that pursue thee
Would burn to the ground
Two thousand Troy Towns,
If so many were found.

Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?

Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!

May no bowels of mercy
To Sancho be granted,
And thy Dulcinea
Be left still enchanted,
May thy falsehood to me
Find its punishment in her,
For in my land the just
Often pays for the sinner.
May thy grandest adventures
Discomfitures prove,
May thy joys be all dreams,
And forgotten thy love.

Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?

Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!

May thy name be abhorred
For thy conduct to ladies,
From London to England,
From Seville to Cadiz;
May thy cards be unlucky,
Thy hands contain ne'er a
King, seven, or ace
When thou playest primera;
When thy corns are cut
May it be to the quick;
When thy grinders are drawn
May the roots of them stick.

Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?

Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!


All the while the unhappy Altisidora was bewailing herself in the
above strain Don Quixote stood staring at her; and without uttering
a word in reply to her he turned round to Sancho and said, "Sancho
my friend, I conjure thee by the life of thy forefathers tell me the
truth; say, hast thou by any chance taken the three kerchiefs and
the garters this love-sick maid speaks of?"

To this Sancho made answer, "The three kerchiefs I have; but the
garters, as much as 'over the hills of Ubeda.'"

The duchess was amazed at Altisidora's assurance; she knew that
she was bold, lively, and impudent, but not so much so as to venture
to make free in this fashion; and not being prepared for the joke, her
astonishment was all the greater. The duke had a mind to keep up the
sport, so he said, "It does not seem to me well done in you, sir
knight, that after having received the hospitality that has been
offered you in this very castle, you should have ventured to carry off
even three kerchiefs, not to say my handmaid's garters. It shows a bad
heart and does not tally with your reputation. Restore her garters, or
else I defy you to mortal combat, for I am not afraid of rascally
enchanters changing or altering my features as they changed his who
encountered you into those of my lacquey, Tosilos."

"God forbid," said Don Quixote, "that I should draw my sword against
your illustrious person from which I have received such great favours.
The kerchiefs I will restore, as Sancho says he has them; as to the
garters that is impossible, for I have not got them, neither has he;
and if your handmaiden here will look in her hiding-places, depend
upon it she will find them. I have never been a thief, my lord duke,
nor do I mean to be so long as I live, if God cease not to have me
in his keeping. This damsel by her own confession speaks as one in
love, for which I am not to blame, and therefore need not ask
pardon, either of her or of your excellence, whom I entreat to have
a better opinion of me, and once more to give me leave to pursue my
journey."

"And may God so prosper it, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess,
"that we may always hear good news of your exploits; God speed you;
for the longer you stay, the more you inflame the hearts of the
damsels who behold you; and as for this one of mine, I will so
chastise her that she will not transgress again, either with her
eyes or with her words."

"One word and no more, O valiant Don Quixote, I ask you to hear,"
said Altisidora, "and that is that I beg your pardon about the theft
of the garters; for by God and upon my soul I have got them on, and
I have fallen into the same blunder as he did who went looking for his
ass being all the while mounted on it."

"Didn't I say so?" said Sancho. "I'm a likely one to hide thefts!
Why if I wanted to deal in them, opportunities came ready enough to me
in my government."

Don Quixote bowed his head, and saluted the duke and duchess and all
the bystanders, and wheeling Rocinante round, Sancho following him
on Dapple, he rode out of the castle, shaping his course for
Saragossa.

Don Quixote 1.56

CHAPTER LVI

OF THE PRODIGIOUS AND UNPARALLELED BATTLE THAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN
DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA AND THE LACQUEY TOSILOS IN DEFENCE OF THE
DAUGHTER OF DONA RODRIGUEZ

The duke and duchess had no reason to regret the joke that had
been played upon Sancho Panza in giving him the government; especially
as their majordomo returned the same day, and gave them a minute
account of almost every word and deed that Sancho uttered or did
during the time; and to wind up with, eloquently described to them the
attack upon the island and Sancho's fright and departure, with which
they were not a little amused. After this the history goes on to say
that the day fixed for the battle arrived, and that the duke, after
having repeatedly instructed his lacquey Tosilos how to deal with
Don Quixote so as to vanquish him without killing or wounding him,
gave orders to have the heads removed from the lances, telling Don
Quixote that Christian charity, on which he plumed himself, could
not suffer the battle to be fought with so much risk and danger to
life; and that he must be content with the offer of a battlefield on
his territory (though that was against the decree of the holy Council,
which prohibits all challenges of the sort) and not push such an
arduous venture to its extreme limits. Don Quixote bade his excellence
arrange all matters connected with the affair as he pleased, as on his
part he would obey him in everything. The dread day, then, having
arrived, and the duke having ordered a spacious stand to be erected
facing the court of the castle for the judges of the field and the
appellant duennas, mother and daughter, vast crowds flocked from all
the villages and hamlets of the neighbourhood to see the novel
spectacle of the battle; nobody, dead or alive, in those parts
having ever seen or heard of such a one.

The first person to enter the-field and the lists was the master
of the ceremonies, who surveyed and paced the whole ground to see that
there was nothing unfair and nothing concealed to make the
combatants stumble or fall; then the duennas entered and seated
themselves, enveloped in mantles covering their eyes, nay even their
bosoms, and displaying no slight emotion as Don Quixote appeared in
the lists. Shortly afterwards, accompanied by several trumpets and
mounted on a powerful steed that threatened to crush the whole
place, the great lacquey Tosilos made his appearance on one side of
the courtyard with his visor down and stiffly cased in a suit of stout
shining armour. The horse was a manifest Frieslander, broad-backed and
flea-bitten, and with half a hundred of wool hanging to each of his
fetlocks. The gallant combatant came well primed by his master the
duke as to how he was to bear himself against the valiant Don
Quixote of La Mancha; being warned that he must on no account slay
him, but strive to shirk the first encounter so as to avoid the risk
of killing him, as he was sure to do if he met him full tilt. He
crossed the courtyard at a walk, and coming to where the duennas
were placed stopped to look at her who demanded him for a husband; the
marshal of the field summoned Don Quixote, who had already presented
himself in the courtyard, and standing by the side of Tosilos he
addressed the duennas, and asked them if they consented that Don
Quixote of La Mancha should do battle for their right. They said
they did, and that whatever he should do in that behalf they
declared rightly done, final and valid. By this time the duke and
duchess had taken their places in a gallery commanding the
enclosure, which was filled to overflowing with a multitude of
people eager to see this perilous and unparalleled encounter. The
conditions of the combat were that if Don Quixote proved the victor
his antagonist was to marry the daughter of Dona Rodriguez; but if
he should be vanquished his opponent was released from the promise
that was claimed against him and from all obligations to give
satisfaction. The master of the ceremonies apportioned the sun to
them, and stationed them, each on the spot where he was to stand.
The drums beat, the sound of the trumpets filled the air, the earth
trembled under foot, the hearts of the gazing crowd were full of
anxiety, some hoping for a happy issue, some apprehensive of an
untoward ending to the affair, and lastly, Don Quixote, commending
himself with all his heart to God our Lord and to the lady Dulcinea
del Toboso, stood waiting for them to give the necessary signal for
the onset. Our lacquey, however, was thinking of something very
different; he only thought of what I am now going to mention.

It seems that as he stood contemplating his enemy she struck him
as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen all his life; and the
little blind boy whom in our streets they commonly call Love had no
mind to let slip the chance of triumphing over a lacquey heart, and
adding it to the list of his trophies; and so, stealing gently upon
him unseen, he drove a dart two yards long into the poor lacquey's
left side and pierced his heart through and through; which he was able
to do quite at his ease, for Love is invisible, and comes in and
goes out as he likes, without anyone calling him to account for what
he does. Well then, when they gave the signal for the onset our
lacquey was in an ecstasy, musing upon the beauty of her whom he had
already made mistress of his liberty, and so he paid no attention to
the sound of the trumpet, unlike Don Quixote, who was off the
instant he heard it, and, at the highest speed Rocinante was capable
of, set out to meet his enemy, his good squire Sancho shouting lustily
as he saw him start, "God guide thee, cream and flower of
knights-errant! God give thee the victory, for thou hast the right
on thy side!" But though Tosilos saw Don Quixote coming at him he
never stirred a step from the spot where he was posted; and instead of
doing so called loudly to the marshal of the field, to whom when he
came up to see what he wanted he said, "Senor, is not this battle to
decide whether I marry or do not marry that lady?" "Just so," was
the answer. "Well then," said the lacquey, "I feel qualms of
conscience, and I should lay a-heavy burden upon it if I were to
proceed any further with the combat; I therefore declare that I
yield myself vanquished, and that I am willing to marry the lady at
once."

The marshal of the field was lost in astonishment at the words of
Tosilos; and as he was one of those who were privy to the
arrangement of the affair he knew not what to say in reply. Don
Quixote pulled up in mid career when he saw that his enemy was not
coming on to the attack. The duke could not make out the reason why
the battle did not go on; but the marshal of the field hastened to him
to let him know what Tosilos said, and he was amazed and extremely
angry at it. In the meantime Tosilos advanced to where Dona
Rodriguez sat and said in a loud voice, "Senora, I am willing to marry
your daughter, and I have no wish to obtain by strife and fighting
what I can obtain in peace and without any risk to my life."

The valiant Don Quixote heard him, and said, "As that is the case
I am released and absolved from my promise; let them marry by all
means, and as 'God our Lord has given her, may Saint Peter add his
blessing.'"

The duke had now descended to the courtyard of the castle, and going
up to Tosilos he said to him, "Is it true, sir knight, that you
yield yourself vanquished, and that moved by scruples of conscience
you wish to marry this damsel?"

"It is, senor," replied Tosilos.

"And he does well," said Sancho, "for what thou hast to give to
the mouse, give to the cat, and it will save thee all trouble."

Tosilos meanwhile was trying to unlace his helmet, and he begged
them to come to his help at once, as his power of breathing was
failing him, and he could not remain so long shut up in that
confined space. They removed it in all haste, and his lacquey features
were revealed to public gaze. At this sight Dona Rodriguez and her
daughter raised a mighty outcry, exclaiming, "This is a trick! This is
a trick! They have put Tosilos, my lord the duke's lacquey, upon us in
place of the real husband. The justice of God and the king against
such trickery, not to say roguery!"

"Do not distress yourselves, ladies," said Don Quixote; "for this is
no trickery or roguery; or if it is, it is not the duke who is at
the bottom of it, but those wicked enchanters who persecute me, and
who, jealous of my reaping the glory of this victory, have turned your
husband's features into those of this person, who you say is a lacquey
of the duke's; take my advice, and notwithstanding the malice of my
enemies marry him, for beyond a doubt he is the one you wish for a
husband."

When the duke heard this all his anger was near vanishing in a fit
of laughter, and he said, "The things that happen to Senor Don Quixote
are so extraordinary that I am ready to believe this lacquey of mine
is not one; but let us adopt this plan and device; let us put off
the marriage for, say, a fortnight, and let us keep this person
about whom we are uncertain in close confinement, and perhaps in the
course of that time he may return to his original shape; for the spite
which the enchanters entertain against Senor Don Quixote cannot last
so long, especially as it is of so little advantage to them to
practise these deceptions and transformations."

"Oh, senor," said Sancho, "those scoundrels are well used to
changing whatever concerns my master from one thing into another. A
knight that he overcame some time back, called the Knight of the
Mirrors, they turned into the shape of the bachelor Samson Carrasco of
our town and a great friend of ours; and my lady Dulcinea del Toboso
they have turned into a common country wench; so I suspect this
lacquey will have to live and die a lacquey all the days of his life."

Here the Rodriguez's daughter exclaimed, "Let him be who he may,
this man that claims me for a wife; I am thankful to him for the same,
for I had rather he the lawful wife of a lacquey than the cheated
mistress of a gentleman; though he who played me false is nothing of
the kind."

To be brief, all the talk and all that had happened ended in Tosilos
being shut up until it was seen how his transformation turned out. All
hailed Don Quixote as victor, but the greater number were vexed and
disappointed at finding that the combatants they had been so anxiously
waiting for had not battered one another to pieces, just as the boys
are disappointed when the man they are waiting to see hanged does
not come out, because the prosecution or the court has pardoned him.
The people dispersed, the duke and Don Quixote returned to the castle,
they locked up Tosilos, Dona Rodriguez and her daughter remained
perfectly contented when they saw that any way the affair must end
in marriage, and Tosilos wanted nothing else.

Don Quixote 1.55

CHAPTER LV
OF WHAT BEFELL SANCHO ON THE ROAD, AND OTHER THINGS THAT CANNOT BE SURPASSED

The length of time he delayed with Ricote prevented Sancho from
reaching the duke's castle that day, though he was within half a
league of it when night, somewhat dark and cloudy, overtook him. This,
however, as it was summer time, did not give him much uneasiness,
and he turned aside out of the road intending to wait for morning; but
his ill luck and hard fate so willed it that as he was searching about
for a place to make himself as comfortable as possible, he and
Dapple fell into a deep dark hole that lay among some very old
buildings. As he fell he commended himself with all his heart to
God, fancying he was not going to stop until he reached the depths
of the bottomless pit; but it did not turn out so, for at little
more than thrice a man's height Dapple touched bottom, and he found
himself sitting on him without having received any hurt or damage
whatever. He felt himself all over and held his breath to try
whether he was quite sound or had a hole made in him anywhere, and
finding himself all right and whole and in perfect health he was
profuse in his thanks to God our Lord for the mercy that had been
shown him, for he made sure he had been broken into a thousand pieces.
He also felt along the sides of the pit with his hands to see if it
were possible to get out of it without help, but he found they were
quite smooth and afforded no hold anywhere, at which he was greatly
distressed, especially when he heard how pathetically and dolefully
Dapple was bemoaning himself, and no wonder he complained, nor was
it from ill-temper, for in truth he was not in a very good case.
"Alas," said Sancho, "what unexpected accidents happen at every step
to those who live in this miserable world! Who would have said that
one who saw himself yesterday sitting on a throne, governor of an
island, giving orders to his servants and his vassals, would see
himself to-day buried in a pit without a soul to help him, or
servant or vassal to come to his relief? Here must we perish with
hunger, my ass and myself, if indeed we don't die first, he of his
bruises and injuries, and I of grief and sorrow. At any rate I'll
not be as lucky as my master Don Quixote of La Mancha, when he went
down into the cave of that enchanted Montesinos, where he found people
to make more of him than if he had been in his own house; for it seems
he came in for a table laid out and a bed ready made. There he saw
fair and pleasant visions, but here I'll see, I imagine, toads and
adders. Unlucky wretch that I am, what an end my follies and fancies
have come to! They'll take up my bones out of this, when it is
heaven's will that I'm found, picked clean, white and polished, and my
good Dapple's with them, and by that, perhaps, it will be found out
who we are, at least by such as have heard that Sancho Panza never
separated from his ass, nor his ass from Sancho Panza. Unlucky
wretches, I say again, that our hard fate should not let us die in our
own country and among our own people, where if there was no help for
our misfortune, at any rate there would be some one to grieve for it
and to close our eyes as we passed away! O comrade and friend, how ill
have I repaid thy faithful services! Forgive me, and entreat
Fortune, as well as thou canst, to deliver us out of this miserable
strait we are both in; and I promise to put a crown of laurel on thy
head, and make thee look like a poet laureate, and give thee double
feeds."

In this strain did Sancho bewail himself, and his ass listened to
him, but answered him never a word, such was the distress and
anguish the poor beast found himself in. At length, after a night
spent in bitter moanings and lamentations, day came, and by its
light Sancho perceived that it was wholly impossible to escape out
of that pit without help, and he fell to bemoaning his fate and
uttering loud shouts to find out if there was anyone within hearing;
but all his shouting was only crying in the wilderness, for there
was not a soul anywhere in the neighbourhood to hear him, and then
at last he gave himself up for dead. Dapple was lying on his back, and
Sancho helped him to his feet, which he was scarcely able to keep; and
then taking a piece of bread out of his alforjas which had shared
their fortunes in the fall, he gave it to the ass, to whom it was
not unwelcome, saying to him as if he understood him, "With bread
all sorrows are less."

And now he perceived on one side of the pit a hole large enough to
admit a person if he stooped and squeezed himself into a small
compass. Sancho made for it, and entered it by creeping, and found
it wide and spacious on the inside, which he was able to see as a
ray of sunlight that penetrated what might be called the roof showed
it all plainly. He observed too that it opened and widened out into
another spacious cavity; seeing which he made his way back to where
the ass was, and with a stone began to pick away the clay from the
hole until in a short time he had made room for the beast to pass
easily, and this accomplished, taking him by the halter, he
proceeded to traverse the cavern to see if there was any outlet at the
other end. He advanced, sometimes in the dark, sometimes without
light, but never without fear; "God Almighty help me!" said he to
himself; "this that is a misadventure to me would make a good
adventure for my master Don Quixote. He would have been sure to take
these depths and dungeons for flowery gardens or the palaces of
Galiana, and would have counted upon issuing out of this darkness
and imprisonment into some blooming meadow; but I, unlucky that I
am, hopeless and spiritless, expect at every step another pit deeper
than the first to open under my feet and swallow me up for good;
'welcome evil, if thou comest alone.'"

In this way and with these reflections he seemed to himself to
have travelled rather more than half a league, when at last he
perceived a dim light that looked like daylight and found its way in
on one side, showing that this road, which appeared to him the road to
the other world, led to some opening.

Here Cide Hamete leaves him, and returns to Don Quixote, who in high
spirits and satisfaction was looking forward to the day fixed for
the battle he was to fight with him who had robbed Dona Rodriguez's
daughter of her honour, for whom he hoped to obtain satisfaction for
the wrong and injury shamefully done to her. It came to pass, then,
that having sallied forth one morning to practise and exercise himself
in what he would have to do in the encounter he expected to find
himself engaged in the next day, as he was putting Rocinante through
his paces or pressing him to the charge, he brought his feet so
close to a pit that but for reining him in tightly it would have
been impossible for him to avoid falling into it. He pulled him up,
however, without a fall, and coming a little closer examined the
hole without dismounting; but as he was looking at it he heard loud
cries proceeding from it, and by listening attentively was able to
make out that he who uttered them was saying, "Ho, above there! is
there any Christian that hears me, or any charitable gentleman that
will take pity on a sinner buried alive, on an unfortunate disgoverned
governor?"

It struck Don Quixote that it was the voice of Sancho Panza he
heard, whereat he was taken aback and amazed, and raising his own
voice as much as he could, he cried out, "Who is below there? Who is
that complaining?"

"Who should be here, or who should complain," was the answer, "but
the forlorn Sancho Panza, for his sins and for his ill-luck governor
of the island of Barataria, squire that was to the famous knight Don
Quixote of La Mancha?"

When Don Quixote heard this his amazement was redoubled and his
perturbation grew greater than ever, for it suggested itself to his
mind that Sancho must be dead, and that his soul was in torment down
there; and carried away by this idea he exclaimed, "I conjure thee
by everything that as a Catholic Christian I can conjure thee by, tell
me who thou art; and if thou art a soul in torment, tell me what
thou wouldst have me do for thee; for as my profession is to give
aid and succour to those that need it in this world, it will also
extend to aiding and succouring the distressed of the other, who
cannot help themselves."

"In that case," answered the voice, "your worship who speaks to me
must be my master Don Quixote of La Mancha; nay, from the tone of
the voice it is plain it can be nobody else."

"Don Quixote I am," replied Don Quixote, "he whose profession it
is to aid and succour the living and the dead in their necessities;
wherefore tell me who thou art, for thou art keeping me in suspense;
because, if thou art my squire Sancho Panza, and art dead, since the
devils have not carried thee off, and thou art by God's mercy in
purgatory, our holy mother the Roman Catholic Church has
intercessory means sufficient to release thee from the pains thou
art in; and I for my part will plead with her to that end, so far as
my substance will go; without further delay, therefore, declare
thyself, and tell me who thou art."

"By all that's good," was the answer, "and by the birth of
whomsoever your worship chooses, I swear, Senor Don Quixote of La
Mancha, that I am your squire Sancho Panza, and that I have never died
all my life; but that, having given up my government for reasons
that would require more time to explain, I fell last night into this
pit where I am now, and Dapple is witness and won't let me lie, for
more by token he is here with me."

Nor was this all; one would have fancied the ass understood what
Sancho said, because that moment he began to bray so loudly that the
whole cave rang again.

"Famous testimony!" exclaimed Don Quixote; "I know that bray as well
as if I was its mother, and thy voice too, my Sancho. Wait while I
go to the duke's castle, which is close by, and I will bring some
one to take thee out of this pit into which thy sins no doubt have
brought thee."

"Go, your worship," said Sancho, "and come back quick for God's
sake; for I cannot bear being buried alive any longer, and I'm dying
of fear."

Don Quixote left him, and hastened to the castle to tell the duke
and duchess what had happened Sancho, and they were not a little
astonished at it; they could easily understand his having fallen, from
the confirmatory circumstance of the cave which had been in
existence there from time immemorial; but they could not imagine how
he had quitted the government without their receiving any intimation
of his coming. To be brief, they fetched ropes and tackle, as the
saying is, and by dint of many hands and much labour they drew up
Dapple and Sancho Panza out of the darkness into the light of day. A
student who saw him remarked, "That's the way all bad governors should
come out of their governments, as this sinner comes out of the
depths of the pit, dead with hunger, pale, and I suppose without a
farthing."

Sancho overheard him and said, "It is eight or ten days, brother
growler, since I entered upon the government of the island they gave
me, and all that time I never had a bellyful of victuals, no not for
an hour; doctors persecuted me and enemies crushed my bones; nor had I
any opportunity of taking bribes or levying taxes; and if that be
the case, as it is, I don't deserve, I think, to come out in this
fashion; but 'man proposes and God disposes;' and God knows what is
best, and what suits each one best; and 'as the occasion, so the
behaviour;' and 'let nobody say "I won't drink of this water;"' and
'where one thinks there are flitches, there are no pegs;' God knows my
meaning and that's enough; I say no more, though I could."

"Be not angry or annoyed at what thou hearest, Sancho," said Don
Quixote, "or there will never be an end of it; keep a safe
conscience and let them say what they like; for trying to stop
slanderers' tongues is like trying to put gates to the open plain.
If a governor comes out of his government rich, they say he has been a
thief; and if he comes out poor, that he has been a noodle and a
blockhead."

"They'll be pretty sure this time," said Sancho, "to set me down for
a fool rather than a thief."

Thus talking, and surrounded by boys and a crowd of people, they
reached the castle, where in one of the corridors the duke and duchess
stood waiting for them; but Sancho would not go up to see the duke
until he had first put up Dapple in the stable, for he said he had
passed a very bad night in his last quarters; then he went upstairs to
see his lord and lady, and kneeling before them he said, "Because it
was your highnesses' pleasure, not because of any desert of my own,
I went to govern your island of Barataria, which 'I entered naked, and
naked I find myself; I neither lose nor gain.' Whether I have governed
well or ill, I have had witnesses who will say what they think fit.
I have answered questions, I have decided causes, and always dying
of hunger, for Doctor Pedro Recio of Tirteafuera, the island and
governor doctor, would have it so. Enemies attacked us by night and
put us in a great quandary, but the people of the island say they came
off safe and victorious by the might of my arm; and may God give
them as much health as there's truth in what they say. In short,
during that time I have weighed the cares and responsibilities
governing brings with it, and by my reckoning I find my shoulders
can't bear them, nor are they a load for my loins or arrows for my
quiver; and so, before the government threw me over I preferred to
throw the government over; and yesterday morning I left the island
as I found it, with the same streets, houses, and roofs it had when
I entered it. I asked no loan of anybody, nor did I try to fill my
pocket; and though I meant to make some useful laws, I made hardly
any, as I was afraid they would not be kept; for in that case it comes
to the same thing to make them or not to make them. I quitted the
island, as I said, without any escort except my ass; I fell into a
pit, I pushed on through it, until this morning by the light of the
sun I saw an outlet, but not so easy a one but that, had not heaven
sent me my master Don Quixote, I'd have stayed there till the end of
the world. So now my lord and lady duke and duchess, here is your
governor Sancho Panza, who in the bare ten days he has held the
government has come by the knowledge that he would not give anything
to be governor, not to say of an island, but of the whole world; and
that point being settled, kissing your worships' feet, and imitating
the game of the boys when they say, 'leap thou, and give me one,' I
take a leap out of the government and pass into the service of my
master Don Quixote; for after all, though in it I eat my bread in fear
and trembling, at any rate I take my fill; and for my part, so long as
I'm full, it's all alike to me whether it's with carrots or with
partridges."

Here Sancho brought his long speech to an end, Don Quixote having
been the whole time in dread of his uttering a host of absurdities;
and when he found him leave off with so few, he thanked heaven in
his heart. The duke embraced Sancho and told him he was heartily sorry
he had given up the government so soon, but that he would see that
he was provided with some other post on his estate less onerous and
more profitable. The duchess also embraced him, and gave orders that
he should be taken good care of, as it was plain to see he had been
badly treated and worse bruised.

Don Quixote 1.54

CHAPTER XLIV

WHICH DEALS WITH MATTERS RELATING TO THIS HISTORY AND NO OTHER

The duke and duchess resolved that the challenge Don Quixote had,
for the reason already mentioned, given their vassal, should be
proceeded with; and as the young man was in Flanders, whither he had
fled to escape having Dona Rodriguez for a mother-in-law, they
arranged to substitute for him a Gascon lacquey, named Tosilos,
first of all carefully instructing him in all he had to do. Two days
later the duke told Don Quixote that in four days from that time his
opponent would present himself on the field of battle armed as a
knight, and would maintain that the damsel lied by half a beard, nay a
whole beard, if she affirmed that he had given her a promise of
marriage. Don Quixote was greatly pleased at the news, and promised
himself to do wonders in the lists, and reckoned it rare good
fortune that an opportunity should have offered for letting his
noble hosts see what the might of his strong arm was capable of; and
so in high spirits and satisfaction he awaited the expiration of the
four days, which measured by his impatience seemed spinning themselves
out into four hundred ages. Let us leave them to pass as we do other
things, and go and bear Sancho company, as mounted on Dapple, half
glad, half sad, he paced along on his road to join his master, in
whose society he was happier than in being governor of all the islands
in the world. Well then, it so happened that before he had gone a
great way from the island of his government (and whether it was
island, city, town, or village that he governed he never troubled
himself to inquire) he saw coming along the road he was travelling six
pilgrims with staves, foreigners of that sort that beg for alms
singing; who as they drew near arranged themselves in a line and
lifting up their voices all together began to sing in their own
language something that Sancho could not with the exception of one
word which sounded plainly "alms," from which he gathered that it
was alms they asked for in their song; and being, as Cide Hamete says,
remarkably charitable, he took out of his alforias the half loaf and
half cheese he had been provided with, and gave them to them,
explaining to them by signs that he had nothing else to give them.
They received them very gladly, but exclaimed, "Geld! Geld!"

"I don't understand what you want of me, good people," said Sancho.

On this one of them took a purse out of his bosom and showed it to
Sancho, by which he comprehended they were asking for money, and
putting his thumb to his throat and spreading his hand upwards he gave
them to understand that he had not the sign of a coin about him, and
urging Dapple forward he broke through them. But as he was passing,
one of them who had been examining him very closely rushed towards
him, and flinging his arms round him exclaimed in a loud voice and
good Spanish, "God bless me! What's this I see? Is it possible that
I hold in my arms my dear friend, my good neighbour Sancho Panza?
But there's no doubt about it, for I'm not asleep, nor am I drunk just
now."

Sancho was surprised to hear himself called by his name and find
himself embraced by a foreign pilgrim, and after regarding him
steadily without speaking he was still unable to recognise him; but
the pilgrim perceiving his perplexity cried, "What! and is it
possible, Sancho Panza, that thou dost not know thy neighbour
Ricote, the Morisco shopkeeper of thy village?"

Sancho upon this looking at him more carefully began to recall his
features, and at last recognised him perfectly, and without getting
off the ass threw his arms round his neck saying, "Who the devil could
have known thee, Ricote, in this mummer's dress thou art in? Tell
me, who bas frenchified thee, and how dost thou dare to return to
Spain, where if they catch thee and recognise thee it will go hard
enough with thee?"

"If thou dost not betray me, Sancho," said the pilgrim, "I am
safe; for in this dress no one will recognise me; but let us turn
aside out of the road into that grove there where my comrades are
going to eat and rest, and thou shalt eat with them there, for they
are very good fellows; I'll have time enough to tell thee then all
that has happened me since I left our village in obedience to his
Majesty's edict that threatened such severities against the
unfortunate people of my nation, as thou hast heard."

Sancho complied, and Ricote having spoken to the other pilgrims they
withdrew to the grove they saw, turning a considerable distance out of
the road. They threw down their staves, took off their pilgrim's
cloaks and remained in their under-clothing; they were all
good-looking young fellows, except Ricote, who was a man somewhat
advanced in years. They carried alforjas all of them, and all
apparently well filled, at least with things provocative of thirst,
such as would summon it from two leagues off. They stretched
themselves on the ground, and making a tablecloth of the grass they
spread upon it bread, salt, knives, walnut, scraps of cheese, and
well-picked ham-bones which if they were past gnawing were not past
sucking. They also put down a black dainty called, they say, caviar,
and made of the eggs of fish, a great thirst-wakener. Nor was there
any lack of olives, dry, it is true, and without any seasoning, but
for all that toothsome and pleasant. But what made the best show in
the field of the banquet was half a dozen botas of wine, for each of
them produced his own from his alforjas; even the good Ricote, who
from a Morisco had transformed himself into a German or Dutchman, took
out his, which in size might have vied with the five others. They then
began to eat with very great relish and very leisurely, making the
most of each morsel- very small ones of everything- they took up on
the point of the knife; and then all at the same moment raised their
arms and botas aloft, the mouths placed in their mouths, and all
eyes fixed on heaven just as if they were taking aim at it; and in
this attitude they remained ever so long, wagging their heads from
side to side as if in acknowledgment of the pleasure they were
enjoying while they decanted the bowels of the bottles into their
own stomachs.

Sancho beheld all, "and nothing gave him pain;" so far from that,
acting on the proverb he knew so well, "when thou art at Rome do as
thou seest," he asked Ricote for his bota and took aim like the rest
of them, and with not less enjoyment. Four times did the botas bear
being uplifted, but the fifth it was all in vain, for they were
drier and more sapless than a rush by that time, which made the
jollity that had been kept up so far begin to flag.

Every now and then some one of them would grasp Sancho's right
hand in his own saying, "Espanoli y Tudesqui tuto uno: bon compano;"
and Sancho would answer, "Bon compano, jur a Di!" and then go off into
a fit of laughter that lasted an hour, without a thought for the
moment of anything that had befallen him in his government; for
cares have very little sway over us while we are eating and
drinking. At length, the wine having come to an end with them,
drowsiness began to come over them, and they dropped asleep on their
very table and tablecloth. Ricote and Sancho alone remained awake, for
they had eaten more and drunk less, and Ricote drawing Sancho aside,
they seated themselves at the foot of a beech, leaving the pilgrims
buried in sweet sleep; and without once falling into his own Morisco
tongue Ricote spoke as follows in pure Castilian:

"Thou knowest well, neighbour and friend Sancho Panza, how the
proclamation or edict his Majesty commanded to be issued against those
of my nation filled us all with terror and dismay; me at least it did,
insomuch that I think before the time granted us for quitting Spain
was out, the full force of the penalty had already fallen upon me
and upon my children. I decided, then, and I think wisely (just like
one who knows that at a certain date the house he lives in will be
taken from him, and looks out beforehand for another to change
into), I decided, I say, to leave the town myself, alone and without
my family, and go to seek out some place to remove them to comfortably
and not in the hurried way in which the others took their departure;
for I saw very plainly, and so did all the older men among us, that
the proclamations were not mere threats, as some said, but positive
enactments which would be enforced at the appointed time; and what
made me believe this was what I knew of the base and extravagant
designs which our people harboured, designs of such a nature that I
think it was a divine inspiration that moved his Majesty to carry
out a resolution so spirited; not that we were all guilty, for some
there were true and steadfast Christians; but they were so few that
they could make no head against those who were not; and it was not
prudent to cherish a viper in the bosom by having enemies in the
house. In short it was with just cause that we were visited with the
penalty of banishment, a mild and lenient one in the eyes of some, but
to us the most terrible that could be inflicted upon us. Wherever we
are we weep for Spain; for after all we were born there and it is
our natural fatherland. Nowhere do we find the reception our unhappy
condition needs; and in Barbary and all the parts of Africa where we
counted upon being received, succoured, and welcomed, it is there they
insult and ill-treat us most. We knew not our good fortune until we
lost it; and such is the longing we almost all of us have to return to
Spain, that most of those who like myself know the language, and there
are many who do, come back to it and leave their wives and children
forsaken yonder, so great is their love for it; and now I know by
experience the meaning of the saying, sweet is the love of one's
country.

"I left our village, as I said, and went to France, but though
they gave us a kind reception there I was anxious to see all I
could. I crossed into Italy, and reached Germany, and there it
seemed to me we might live with more freedom, as the inhabitants do
not pay any attention to trifling points; everyone lives as he
likes, for in most parts they enjoy liberty of conscience. I took a
house in a town near Augsburg, and then joined these pilgrims, who are
in the habit of coming to Spain in great numbers every year to visit
the shrines there, which they look upon as their Indies and a sure and
certain source of gain. They travel nearly all over it, and there is
no town out of which they do not go full up of meat and drink, as
the saying is, and with a real, at least, in money, and they come
off at the end of their travels with more than a hundred crowns saved,
which, changed into gold, they smuggle out of the kingdom either in
the hollow of their staves or in the patches of their pilgrim's cloaks
or by some device of their own, and carry to their own country in
spite of the guards at the posts and passes where they are searched.
Now my purpose is, Sancho, to carry away the treasure that I left
buried, which, as it is outside the town, I shall be able to do
without risk, and to write, or cross over from Valencia, to my
daughter and wife, who I know are at Algiers, and find some means of
bringing them to some French port and thence to Germany, there to
await what it may be God's will to do with us; for, after all, Sancho,
I know well that Ricota my daughter and Francisca Ricota my wife are
Catholic Christians, and though I am not so much so, still I am more
of a Christian than a Moor, and it is always my prayer to God that
he will open the eyes of my understanding and show me how I am to
serve him; but what amazes me and I cannot understand is why my wife
and daughter should have gone to Barbary rather than to France,
where they could live as Christians."

To this Sancho replied, "Remember, Ricote, that may not have been
open to them, for Juan Tiopieyo thy wife's brother took them, and
being a true Moor he went where he could go most easily; and another
thing I can tell thee, it is my belief thou art going in vain to
look for what thou hast left buried, for we heard they took from thy
brother-in-law and thy wife a great quantity of pearls and money in
gold which they brought to be passed."

"That may be," said Ricote; "but I know they did not touch my hoard,
for I did not tell them where it was, for fear of accidents; and so,
if thou wilt come with me, Sancho, and help me to take it away and
conceal it, I will give thee two hundred crowns wherewith thou
mayest relieve thy necessities, and, as thou knowest, I know they
are many."

"I would do it," said Sancho; "but I am not at all covetous, for I
gave up an office this morning in which, if I was, I might have made
the walls of my house of gold and dined off silver plates before six
months were over; and so for this reason, and because I feel I would
be guilty of treason to my king if I helped his enemies, I would not
go with thee if instead of promising me two hundred crowns thou wert
to give me four hundred here in hand."

"And what office is this thou hast given up, Sancho?" asked Ricote.

"I have given up being governor of an island," said Sancho, "and
such a one, faith, as you won't find the like of easily."

"And where is this island?" said Ricote.

"Where?" said Sancho; "two leagues from here, and it is called the
island of Barataria."

"Nonsense! Sancho," said Ricote; "islands are away out in the sea;
there are no islands on the mainland."

"What? No islands!" said Sancho; "I tell thee, friend Ricote, I left
it this morning, and yesterday I was governing there as I pleased like
a sagittarius; but for all that I gave it up, for it seemed to me a
dangerous office, a governor's."

"And what hast thou gained by the government?" asked Ricote.

"I have gained," said Sancho, "the knowledge that I am no good for
governing, unless it is a drove of cattle, and that the riches that
are to be got by these governments are got at the cost of one's rest
and sleep, ay and even one's food; for in islands the governors must
eat little, especially if they have doctors to look after their
health."

"I don't understand thee, Sancho," said Ricote; "but it seems to
me all nonsense thou art talking. Who would give thee islands to
govern? Is there any scarcity in the world of cleverer men than thou
art for governors? Hold thy peace, Sancho, and come back to thy
senses, and consider whether thou wilt come with me as I said to
help me to take away treasure I left buried (for indeed it may be
called a treasure, it is so large), and I will give thee wherewithal
to keep thee, as I told thee."

"And I have told thee already, Ricote, that I will not," said
Sancho; "let it content thee that by me thou shalt not be betrayed,
and go thy way in God's name and let me go mine; for I know that
well-gotten gain may be lost, but ill-gotten gain is lost, itself
and its owner likewise."

"I will not press thee, Sancho," said Ricote; "but tell me, wert
thou in our village when my wife and daughter and brother-in-law
left it?"

"I was so," said Sancho; "and I can tell thee thy daughter left it
looking so lovely that all the village turned out to see her, and
everybody said she was the fairest creature in the world. She wept
as she went, and embraced all her friends and acquaintances and
those who came out to see her, and she begged them all to commend
her to God and Our Lady his mother, and this in such a touching way
that it made me weep myself, though I'm not much given to tears
commonly; and, faith, many a one would have liked to hide her, or go
out and carry her off on the road; but the fear of going against the
king's command kept them back. The one who showed himself most moved
was Don Pedro Gregorio, the rich young heir thou knowest of, and
they say he was deep in love with her; and since she left he has not
been seen in our village again, and we all suspect he has gone after
her to steal her away, but so far nothing has been heard of it."

"I always had a suspicion that gentleman had a passion for my
daughter," said Ricote; "but as I felt sure of my Ricota's virtue it
gave me no uneasiness to know that he loved her; for thou must have
heard it said, Sancho, that the Morisco women seldom or never engage
in amours with the old Christians; and my daughter, who I fancy
thought more of being a Christian than of lovemaking, would not
trouble herself about the attentions of this heir."

"God grant it," said Sancho, "for it would be a bad business for
both of them; but now let me be off, friend Ricote, for I want to
reach where my master Don Quixote is to-night."

"God be with thee, brother Sancho," said Ricote; "my comrades are
beginning to stir, and it is time, too, for us to continue our
journey;" and then they both embraced, and Sancho mounted Dapple,
and Ricote leant upon his staff, and so they parted.